


Lineage: The Montenegro Curse

by ashley_ingenious



Series: Lineage [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (in flashbacks) - Freeform, Canonical Character Death, Derek Hale is Bad at Feelings, Did I say slow build?, F/F, F/M, Found Families, Future Fic, M/M, Pack Fic, Slow Build, Temporary Character Death, The Hale Family, glacial build, lydia is something, stiles is something
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-09-13 20:45:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 18
Words: 132,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16899588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashley_ingenious/pseuds/ashley_ingenious
Summary: “You got all the best humans. You realize that, don’t you McCall?” Laura said, looking at him again. “My mother always said that a pack without humans is doomed to failure. We had four in the original. My uncle Peter's wife, Charlotte, her daughter, Lauren, and my youngest brother, Trevor. The most important, though, was my uncle's best friend. The connection those two shared was...integral to the way our pack survived. She was an amazing woman. Uncle Peter always knew that her son would follow in her footsteps. That we would have a second generation pack human one day. He believed that her child was as integral to the pack’s survival as his mother was. I came for that. "Thunder rolled, sounding heavy and close. Scott knew this time it was unintentional. It seemed enough to prompt the Alpha into speaking."I'm here for Stiles."





	1. Prologue: The Last Lark

**Author's Note:**

> If this looks familiar it’s because I posted it before, but it wasn’t finished and I eventually pulled it rather than having an unfinished work just sitting up for however long. 
> 
> But it’s done now. 
> 
> I’ve literally been writing this off and on for five years. It’s the longest relationship I’ve ever been in. 
> 
> I truly hope you guys enjoy it.

###  Prologue: The Last Lark

**July 1946**

It was a familiar scene: two young women, both with dark hair, laid out across a sprawling bed. Fully dressed, they lay with their hands clasped over their stomachs, talking rapidly. A small child played joyously with blocks on the floor below them. Occasionally, the older girl would prop herself up on her elbows, and glance at him with nothing but fondness. She sighed. “I don't think I want to go, Val.”  

Her companion bolted upright, shock coloring her features. “What?! Why?” The face shifted into a pout which would’ve worked on anyone who hadn’t helped her perfect it themselves. Ina rolled her eyes.

“I'm ancient, now, Val. I have a husband, and a child. Responsibilities.” She gestured at her son, laughing with abandon as he toppled over a poorly constructed tower of blocks. The younger woman couldn’t believe it. Ina was barely nineteen, and she didn’t look a day over seventeen. She could hardly be called  _ ancient _ . Valencia Montenegro’s eyes narrowed.

“Did David say you couldn't?”

Ina’s scoff was impressive. “David would never. To be honest,” she sighed, “I just don't really want to. I want to put my son to sleep. Go to bed with my husband.” She turned soulful brown eyes on her best friend, and something in Valencia's heart cracked as she realized the truth of it. She'd known Ina since she was nine, and though Ina was three years older, they'd always been on the same page about where they wanted to go and who they wanted to be. They wanted to see all the corners of the world together, right all the injustices they could find. Shape reality in their own image. Valencia's father and Ina's mother encouraged them, educated them, and never, not even for a moment, doubted their daughters' convictions.

Yet, they were both kind and unsurprised when, at sixteen, Ina's ferocity went soft with the throes of true love. Valencia couldn't explain it. Ina had always been the loud one, the daring one, who would never settle down or give in or conform. In her presence, Val had been quiet; steady, but no less dedicated to the causes they took up together.

Then, three months after they'd first noticed the change in Ina, a quiet young man named David Stilinski had come to their home, expressing his intention to marry her. The girls had listened as subtly as they could from the landing at the top of the stairs. Valencia's father asked why David was so keen on Ina. He responded immediately, "She makes me better. We make each other better. I love her, sir."

From their hiding space above, the girls heard, and Ina broke into silent, streaming tears. Valencia huddled closer to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders for comfort. "Is this what you want? To be married?" Ina nodded frantically, hiccoughing, "More than anything, Val. I want to be with him more than anything."

And after that, Ina led two different lives. Love had changed her; grown her up and opened her eyes. The need to take over the world was a distant memory. She had David, now, and she decided, selfishly, that the whole world didn't have to be saved. As long her family was protected, she could sleep easily.

This same awakening was far off for the Valencia. In her best friend's’ presence, Ina put on her old face. They plotted and schemed in a good natured fashion. Both relentless gossips, they'd pick up this tidbit or that in town and trade them in giggled whispers. More often than not, they'd draw lines of correlation between events that couldn't be more unrelated if they tried.

When it came to light that Ina was with child, the whole lot of them were beside themselves. She struggled to keep her two lives separate and Valencia chided her for trying. "Of course," she'd said, cold cloth pressed to Ina's weary forehead, "Things are different now. Of course they are. But I love you in all your ways, Inny. Especially happy. How can I resent you for finding happiness?"

Ina had stopped separating herself after that. Her son, Elijah, was born healthy and Valencia was in love with him. She brought toys and clothes every time she saw them. Ina stayed closer to home then. Val knew the door was always open for her. This, however, was the first time she'd ever turned down a party.

Valencia's mouth opened, then closed again, then opened, hazel eyes narrowing as she processed this development.

"It's in Madrid. There's no way he'll let me go without you."  She continued pouting.

"He will. You just need a proper chaperone."  Ina rallied back. She’d known Valencia would push, it was in her nature, but she was prepared.

"That was supposed to be you!" The younger woman rolled off the bed and began to pace, keeping a sharp eye as to avoid the baby underfoot.

"I’ve called Flora."

Valencia blanched. "Flora is..."

"Fair." Ina ruled, nodding.

Chestnut curls bobbed with the younger girl’s laughter. "I could have said any number of other things."

"But you can't disagree."

Ina was right, as usual. Valencia couldn’t argue. Sighing, she nodded and hugged her best friend, to let her know she wasn't too disappointed. When the girls had parted ways, Val made the arrangements to her trip, subtracting Ina and adding Aunt Flora to the plans.

There was nothing  _ wrong _ with Aunt Flora. She was kind, but firm, and she wanted Valencia to have fun and meet people, but she wanted to be sure it happened safely.

But Flora was peculiar in that she was unmarried. She'd had suitors as a girl, but turned them all down. She went to school, got the same education as Valencia's own father, and ran a bookstore on the edge of the city. People thought she was strange on a regular basis. Usually, Val just thought she was brilliant.

"Danielle is only a bit older than you, right?" Her aunt asked as the train wheezed out of the station and set them on their way. Valencia nodded. "Your uncle always was extravagant. What kind of Last Lark does he have planned for her?"

Their family tended to call an eighteenth birthday a “Last Lark”. After, you were expected to find a husband, or a job, have a plan. 

 

Valencia smiled. "Apparently he's saved all her clothes from when she was younger, and he's going to let her burn them in the courtyard. She says he's invited everyone. The whole town, if Dani’s to be believed." She smiled at her cousin’s silliness. Aunt Flora snorted. “Only in Danielle’s mind would an entire town want to come out and watch her burn clothes.”

Apparently, Flora had grossly underestimated Dani’s popularity, because when the night arrived, the courtyard of her Uncle Guillermo’s home was packed with people from all over. Some of them were Danielle and Valencia’s age, some older, some younger. The courtyard was large and the stone danced orange in the presence of the huge fire that’d been set up in the center. Most of it was kindling and paper. Occasionally, when she remembered, Danielle would skip into the center of her massive party, pick up a piece of clothing from her childhood, make up some story as to how it had oppressed her, and throw it into the fire.

The entire premise of the party was incredibly indulgent, but Uncle Guillermo was a financier, and Danielle was his only child. He spoiled her beyond what words could describe. He was here, somewhere, but not paying her any attention. The purpose of a Last Lark is to do whatever you want. Valencia’s own father had always tacked on the words “within reason”, but Guillermo didn’t seem to share the sentiment. This was made evident by the fact that, as the night wore on; it became more and more apparent that Danielle was well on her way to being drunk.

“This!!” She cried dramatically, “Is the jacket I was wearing when my first nanny told me that good little girls were to be seen and not heard!!!!!” The crowd roared as she flung it into the blaze. Hazel eyes caught on the light, blonde hair turned spun gold in its glow, and it was no wonder her audience was enthralled. Danielle was beautiful, plain and simple.

“Her type,” Flora muttered, “tend to fly too close to the sun. They need guidance. Not like you.” She made a low clicking sound with her tongue, shaking her head at the scene before her.

Sure enough, Danielle tipped precariously, righting herself at the very last moment. Flora grumbled something about doing it yourself if you wanted it done right and began to push her way through the crowd towards Danielle. Remembering herself, she spun, pointing a finger at Valencia’s chest, “Do not embarrass me.” Valencia nodded, and Flora disappeared into the crowd surrounding the birthday girl. The last Valencia saw, she was leading her back towards the house with a hand on her back that was probably as comforting as a steel rod to her ribs. Valencia chuckled in sympathy.

As pathetic as it seemed, without her aunt to keep her company, Valencia was at a loss as to what to do. Until Danielle returned, there was no more show, just a bonfire, a group of people she knew nothing about, punch and sandwiches. When she’d arrived, her cousin had greeted her with a warm hug and hello, but as more and more people began to arrive, it was evident she wouldn’t be able to spend the whole night at Valencia’s side. “You’re staying, though?” She’d asked as she was pulled away by her adoring fans, “Until tomorrow, at least? We must catch up.” Valencia had nodded, smiling, and in awe (as always) of Danielle’s innate ability to charm and woo people to her will.

Now, glass of punch in hand, Val rocked back on her heels. The townspeople and Danielle’s friends from school all seemed to know each other, everyone was sectioned off into their own groups, and the fire was dying. The young girl found herself walking up to it, stooping to rifle through the box near the blaze. She wondered, absently, if there were any real memories to be found here.

“I thought you’d never get rid of your guard dog.” A warm voice turned behind her. Startling briefly, she rose and turned to face him.  The man before her was absolutely devastating. He was tall, taller than David, who was the tallest man she’d ever met at six foot two. His eyes were like storm clouds. Skin tan and weathered from work, teeth bright, though. Much brighter than they should be for someone who carried such an air of the working class about them. He held out a hand and offered, “Emory.” She took it, nodding, though not sure if it was a first name or last he’d just given her. 

 

“Valencia Montenegro.” She shook her hair a little as she said it, chin tilting up. The name didn’t mean much in Vigo, where her father was a modest shop owner, definitely not wealthy. Here, though, in Madrid, the Montenegro name was associated with her uncle. And Guillermo Montenegro was a man to be feared and respected.

It incensed her that this Emory looked like he wanted to laugh.

“Oh?” Half of his perfect mouth twisted into a grin. It was sharp, predatory, and she shivered before she could think to control it. The other half of his mouth quirked in response. “What relation are you to our most gracious host?”

“I’m his niece, Danielle’s first cousin.” 

 

His eyes widened, “From Vigo?” She nodded, eyes narrowing. 

 

“No, Danielle has told me about you. Most recently at the beginning of the evening. Your family housed those Jews during the war, did they not?” 

 

The thought of someone breathing in attempt to insult Ina and Miss Anna had Valencia stepping closer to Emory in the most menacing manner her five feet and three inches could conjure, “Is that a problem for you?”

Now he did laugh, full bodied and bright, head tipped back so that it sparked out against the sky. The sound skated over her senses and skin in equal measure, leaving her pebbled with bumps and shifting with nerves. When he finished, brought his head back down to face hers, a lock of dark hair fell into his face, and he smiled brilliantly, holding his palms up in surrender. “No problem here, little lion,” he chuckled, “Just making conversation. Danielle asked that I make sure you have a good time.” He glanced once to his left, once to his right, and pulled a flask from his inner breast pocket. Unscrewing the cap quickly, he tipped it into her cup. It was put back with great speed, and then he just looked at her, expectantly.

“Swirl it up a bit,” he commented eventually, and she did. Then he inclined his head, in a gesture universal to “go on,” and she stared at the drink, and back at him. “I’m not going to  _ drink _ this!” She hissed when the realization hit her, “I’m a  **lady** . I’m—“

“Bored. Is what you are. And your chaperone will be occupied for as long as Dani’s willing to be a brat, which we both know could be an exceptionally long time. You’re the most beautiful girl at this party, and you’re rummaging around in your cousin’s fake baby clothes and not talking to anyone. Let me  _ help _ you, Valencia.” She’d never heard her name spoken that way, she had to shake her head once just to get over the sound of it in his mouth. “It’ll be fun. I’ll look after you, I promise.”

“Why should I trust you?”

“Dani would have my balls in a vice if I hurt you. Especially after she’d asked me to look after you. She knows where I live. She knows my family. And, sober, she’s really quite terrifying.” Emory’s face was earnest, his voice urgent, and against all better judgment, Val found herself believing him. She took a sip of the concoction now inhabiting her cup.

“This is disgusting,” she murmured, after swallowing a bit, and he chuckled. 

 

“That’s a good girl. Take another. Let’s mingle.”

\----------------------------------

Valencia was on her second cup of doctored punch, and her mind was getting a little fuzzy. Her bones were warm through, though the night was only getting colder. Emory had taken her around, introducing her to this person, or that, telling the best jokes that had her giggling and others commenting on what a good time they were having. Danielle and Flora hadn’t come back since their exit. No one had seen Uncle Guillermo all night.

Eventually, Val had convinced her companion to find some chairs they could pull up against the fire, as she began stoking it up again. She made up her own stories as she dropped child’s clothing onto the flames. “This is the blouse I wore the first time I made one of the servants cry for absolutely no reason at all.” She muttered, tossing the blouse on the fire, Emory shot her a sad smile. She reached for another. “This is the skirt I wore when I told my cousin Valencia she couldn’t have a Last Lark if she’d never had a first.”

“It doesn’t sound like you think very much of her.” Emory commented, neutral and without judgment, but the young woman shook her head. “I love her. I just…I  _ know _ her. She flies too close to the sun.” She chortled at herself, “And I’m not the type to leave the ground. It’s hard to watch, sometimes. I can see that she’s going to end in ruins. I can see it. But in the end, she’s going to die and I’m going to die and she’s going to have a much better story to tell about it.”

“You always do what you’re told?”

Valencia nodded, suddenly miserable. Emory passed her the flask, no punch this time, “Drink.” And she did. “Ask me a question. One of the million that you want to ask and ladies aren’t supposed to.”

The alcohol hit her harder this time, sending her world spinning for a moment before she collected herself. Emory’s hand touched her knee, briefly, eyebrows furrowing in concern. He moved it as soon as he deemed her okay again. She missed the warm pressure against her skin, but she couldn’t say so. “How old are you?” She spoke, words slurring slightly around the edges. It embarrassed her, she could feel her cheeks flush red, but he was smiling, “Twenty two.”

Valencia’s jaw dropped. “No. No, you seem...older…” she said, blushing and looking away. Her face was warm from the fire and the liquor, she told herself. She wasn’t still feeling the press of his palm against her knee. “Why do you say that?” His head was tilted with the question, general confusion coloring his features. For a brief moment, Valencia would swear he looked like a huge puppy. “You seem…” she stuttered to a halt, feeling all the sudden very young and stupid, and in over her head. She held out a hand for the flask again, and he handed it to her without question.

A gulp this time, settling heavier in her stomach and there, she felt better immediately, warmer, bolder, brave enough to say anything. “You seem more experienced,” she blurted out, “With women. You seem like, you’d know how to…”

But Valencia  _ was _ a lady, and there was no amount of alcohol she’d experienced as of yet that could compel her to finish that sentence. Impropriety flooded her, and there was nothing to blame for the heat in her face except humiliation. “Not with me! I didn’t mean. I meant, honestly, I meant Dani. You seem like the type to be experienced with someone like Danielle.”

Emory smiled, teeth glinting off the firelight like something to be afraid of, “Would it scandalize you to know that I am? Experienced with Danielle, I mean?” Valencia’s heart skipped and stuttered in her chest. She shook her head. “She’s young, though, just eighteen today…”

“Oh, no, little lion,” he pulled the flask from his pocket and took a drink himself, “Your cousin is all grown up. There are things she’s taught me that I’m sure they don’t teach well bred ladies like you.” He smiled at her, and there was still no judgment there. “She’s engaged, you know, set to marry one of her father’s lackeys. He’ll plug her up, hopefully she’ll enjoy it. She’ll pop out babies and plan dinners the rest of her life.” He sighed, “You see her ending in ruin, but all I see for Dani is a cage. Beautiful, wild creatures always end up caged.”

“Do you love her?” Valencia found herself whispering. 

 

He shrugged, “Doesn’t matter. People like Danielle and people like me, we don’t end up together.” He tilted the flask towards her, and she accepted, taking another small sip. They were lost in the writhing mass that was the party, everyone drunk and happy and willing to laugh their way through the night. “What kind of person are you?”

“I work at the mill.” It was a simple answer, but not much else needed to be said. He was right. Unless he struck gold between now and the wedding, there was no way someone like him ended up with someone like her cousin. Even if he did love her, would love her throughout time and beyond, Danielle was selfish, and accustomed to fine things. She would never have any love for a man who couldn’t provide them.

A defeated hurt seemed to radiate off Emory as he took another pull from the seemingly bottomless flask, eyes dancing as the firelight reflected in them. Valencia felt driven to do… _ something _ . He’d taken away her pain, her loneliness, made her feel warm and wanted, made her laugh. She wasn’t good with people or easy with words like he was, but she could help him. She knew she could. And that’s how she found herself saying, “Could you show me?”

He glanced back up at her, eyes seeming lighter, sharper in the fire. 

 

“How to be…experienced?,” she continued in a rush. “I know I’m not...Danielle, but I’ll be eighteen in two months. Married soon after. I need to know how to…” she made a vague gesture with her hands, “It would help me a lot.”

Emory watched her for a long time, not saying anything. She tilted her chin up, defiant, certain she wouldn’t break his gaze, betray anything other than complete confidence in what she’d just said. 

 

“Are you sure?” He asked, and for the first time, his voice seemed timid. His whole posture had shifted into something less dazzling and more…vulnerable. She wanted to touch him, to nurture him and protect him from this pain that seemed to ooze out of him, and slither back in with his every breath. 

 

She nodded. “Yes. Yes, I’m sure.”

He took her hand, and led her gently away from the fire, around towards the back of the house. They didn’t say anything, but the silence was comfortable, and the further they got from the fire and the throbbing body heat of people, the closer to him she found herself. His skin was warm and he didn’t seem to mind her proximity, making a small contented sound in his throat when she found her nose pressed into his back.

He lead her into the barn, slid the door closed behind them, and slowly, slowly, crowded her up against it. Her brain was hazy. There was a twisting, curling heat sliding around her stomach, settling low in her body. She’d never felt anything like it before. “Are you still sure?” He asked lowly, moving his arms so that he wasn’t blocking her in, so that she could move if she wanted. Her response was a dumb nod.

“Yes. I…would you, maybe, kiss me? I don’t know how--, I’ve never…and I think that would be a good place to…start?”

His eyes flicked down to her mouth, and he brought up a thumb to run across  her bottom lip. She shivered. “No one’s ever kissed you before?” he whispered, ducking in closer. She shook her head. “That is the greatest shame,” he was so close, so close, she could hardly even really see him. She let her eyes flutter closed, could smell him, the hard scent of the alcohol he’d consumed blending with something sweeter. Closer, closer,  _ so _ close…

Something barreled into her hard from her left side, and she went flying into a conveniently placed bushel of hay off to her right. “Maarah!” She heard Emory roar as the creature, who she soon realized was a woman, landed on top of her, punching and scratching wherever she could.

Valencia’s eyes were squeezed tight, hands up in defense of her face, but she didn’t strike back, didn’t move. “Shame on you!” She heard the woman yell, “Shame! Haven’t your kind used him enough?! Hasn’t he been through  **enough** ? When? When does he become more than a body to you? When does he become something loved? Something beautiful? Something to be protected and cherished? WHEN?!”

Valencia whimpered, alcohol clouding her judgment and making her eyes fill more than the pain. That’s what she thought she’d been doing, in the only way she knew (or didn’t know) how. She breathed a sigh of relief when she felt the weight lifted off of her. “Maarah,” Emory soothed, and Valencia almost wished she had the courage to open her eyes, “That’s not what this was. That’s not what she meant. Jesus, what have you gotten us into? Do you know who she  _ is _ ?”

Sniffling, Valencia went to sit up, set herself to rights, only to find herself kicked in the stomach. The alcohol that had been warming her insides reared up in violent protest and she wretched helplessly into the hay surrounding her. “I know what she means,” the girl continued, “I know what she represents. She deserves it just as much as the other one. And they’ll both get it. If it’s the last thing I do, they’ll both pay for what they did to you.”

Val was crying, but she sat up, stood up, faced down her attacker because she wouldn’t run. Not off her family’s property, without even knowing who was chasing her away.

Emory had the girl by the arms, hair dirty and wild, skin tanned like his, eyes green. Green like the color the ocean struggled to hold onto in a storm. Green that Valencia would never forget. The older man’s eyes met hers over the top of Maarah’s head. “Please. Please. We’ll go. Don’t hurt her. Don’t tell anyone. Please. She’s…” he tried to wrangle the struggling girl, still lunging at Valencia, “she’s special to me. She’s so special to me. Please don’t…”

The girl who was Maarah stilled completely at those words, sagging into the arms holding her. Valencia prepared herself to turn and leave, but the girl started to speak, and she found herself riveted to the spot.

“I curse you,” she began. 

 

“Maarah, no, Maarah please you have to stop.” Emory begged, but Valencia didn’t think the girl could hear him. 

 

“I curse you, and all those that come from your blood. You will suffer. You will be plagued by pain and death, by pain and death and loneliness. Until the son born of your blood pulls lightning from the heart of a wolf. You will suffer. You will live, and you will suffer.”

Something cold spiked through Valencia’s chest, and she found herself struggling to breath. She staggered, and slumped, falling back against the door of the barn. Her vision went gray and spotted around the edges, and the last she heard was, “Maarah you shouldn’t have done that. She wasn’t like them. She was kind. Shit. We have to go, Mar, we have to go.”

Then everything went black.

When she woke up, she was alone in the barn. She couldn’t have been out for too long, the party was still going outside, shouts of joy skating across the courtyard. She tried to pick all the hay she could out of her hair and dress, but when she realized it was futile, she just let herself out of the barn, tiptoeing around the party, sneaking in through the back.

She bathed, changed into sleeping clothes, and passed out thinking, if this was what happened at a Last Lark, she was glad she’d never had a first, damn anything Danielle had to say about it.

Two days later, she arrived back home, to find that her father had died in his sleep two nights before.

The cold thing took up residence in her chest again. It wouldn’t leave for a long time yet. 


	2. Ch 1: Welcome Back to Beacon Hills

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2 chapters to start, because the Prologue doesn’t really stand alone.

**December 2021**

 

**Stiles**

The backyard of the McCall ranch was filled with light and noise. The sweet smoke scent of barbecue filled the air, and Scott manned the grill with ease.

"All I'm saying man," he said, taking a sip from his red solo cup, "Is that I'm not sure this is the best time for her to be taking on more responsibility," he shrugged, still smiling.

Stiles rolled his eyes, tipsy and indulgent. "And I'll  _ I'm _ saying, is that it's probably not good form to talk shit about your wife's promotion  _ at _ your wife's promotion barbeque," he chuckled, taking a swig of his own drink.

Scott shrugged, brown eyes twinkling, before turning his body back towards the grill.

There was a large crack as Erica slammed Danny's hand down into a picnic table, effectively ending their arm wrestle.

Stiles rolled his eyes as he heard the wood splinter. It was completely normal given their enhanced strength, but he yelled anyway.

"Hey! Let's show some respect for the furniture, yeah?" He raised his eyebrows and tilted his head subtly towards Chris Argent, who was still congratulating his daughter on the porch.

Erica grinned and shrugged, while Danny scowled and demanded another round. "And don't cheat this time," he muttered, but he was smiling.

Allison, ever the charming diplomat, managed to steer her father indoors without laughing, and Stiles had to hand it to Scott. He'd married a saint. A saint that was hell with a crossbow, but a saint all the same.

Abigail, Danny's eight year old daughter, laughed as Jackson chased her around the yard.

Stiles smiled watching them. Jackson was a dick- always had been and always would be- but he had a soft spot for Abby that ran a mile wide.

Eventually he caught her, and they tumbled to the ground together. Stiles watched as she clamored up into his lap and demanded that he tell her about the conClaudiations again.

Scott's contemplative hum pulled him away from the scene. "We're doing alright here, aren't we?" He hummed, and Stiles nodded, because yeah, they were.

Eight years prior, a rogue Alpha werewolf had torn through town, biting people at random. He'd gotten Scott first, then Jackson. He'd bitten Lydia, but she'd been mysteriously immune. The attack on Lydia, though, had been the last straw for Jackson. Scott and Stiles had been hounding him since he’d been bitten, saying they should work together. And Jackson had been his usual haughty, above it all self about the whole thing. But when Lydia was bitten, she didn’t heal. The sight of Lydia fighting for her life, pale and quiet and so unlike herself, was enough to convince Jackson that maybe cooperation wasn’t so bad. 

 

Stiles and Lydia, when she recovered, had done an insane amount of research, and Jackson and Scott had teamed up and ended up killing the Alpha. In the end,  Scott delivered the killing blow, and became the Alpha himself.

None of them had really known what to do at first, but again, Stiles came through with the idea of pack bonding.

Shortly after, Stiles had convinced Scott to turn Erica, a sweet, shy girl with epilepsy. The bite had cured her of her illness, and she'd turned into a surly blonde sex pot, but Stiles loved her all the same.

After what they referred to only as, "the unfortunate training exercise", Jackson's best friend Danny had found out, and they'd all been pretty tight knit ever since.

Danny had been working as a software for a tech firm in Beacon City, but when he found out, he put a lot of his considerable skill towards finding out everything he could about werewolves. It was Danny who'd brought up the idea of hunters, of entire werewolf families being slaughtered just because of what they were. And it was Danny who'd first had to idea of doing something about it.

Werewolf orphans very rarely had anywhere to go when their families were wiped out. If they were lucky, they were taken in my neighboring packs. If they weren't...well. The conventional foster system wasn't exactly prepared for traumatized werechildren with sensitive noses, flashing eyes, claws, and fangs.

Over the past two years, Danny had started seeking out other established packs, building a network, and establishing a kind of werewolf foster system. It was a massive undertaking that had served to put the McCall pack on the map, and made Beacon Hills a force to be reckoned with.

Abigail had been the first child Danny'd tried to place. Her family was from New Orleans, and when he'd flown down to get her, she'd imprinted on him almost immediately. When it was time to pass her on to her new pack, she didn't want to leave, and Danny didn't want to let her.

She was a learning experience in herself, being the only born wolf in their motley crew. There were things about werewolves she knew instinctively that Scott and Jackson were still trying to figure out. Despite that, she was still struggling with control, which is why the barbeque was being held here, instead of at Chris Argent's like they'd originally planned.

Just then, Abby let a high wail and bolted for the house. Jackson swore and pulled himself to follow her.

Danny's head swung around but Jackson waved him off. 

 

"I've got it." He said, jogging up the stairs after her.

Frowning, Danny stood up from the table to go after them, but Scott stepped between him and the backstairs, a small on his face.

"Jackson needs the handle this one, okay?" He said, eyes flaring soft red.

Danny grimaced. 

 

"You know that doesn't work on me?" He said, but his eyes were dropped, and the fight had drained out of him.

He walked back over to the table where Erica was waiting, but they didn't wrestle anymore, he just stared after Jackson, waiting for Abby to reappear.

Scott finished the food, passing plates around, and Stiles called up into the house for Allison and Chris, not wanting them to miss the food.

"Don't dawdle! This lot," he chuckled, "You'd think they were raised by wolves!"

Jackson slunk back down the stairs just then, muttering, "that has not ever been funny."

"What's got your fur in a twist?" Stiles called after him, but he just shrugged.

Scott clapped him on the shoulder and handed him a drink, which he sipped from quickly.

"She's asleep," Jackson nodded toward Danny, who seemed mollified.

"Alright!" Scott called out, "Let's eat!"

Dinner was an easy affair. They'd all known each other so long that it was comfortable for them to chat back and forth.

They'd come together to celebrate Allison's promotion to regional manager of Argent Arms, her family's weapons company. The position made her responsible for all seventeen west coast stores, and in general was a pretty massive deal.

“To Allison!” He raised his glass in toast, laughing at the uproarious response he received. Allison and Scott both smiled hugely, raising their glasses.

The night wound down, moon rising high in the sky, and Chris soon excused himself. Allison rose to see him out, just as Lydia sailed around the side of the house.

“Where’s my princess?” she called out, a pink bag held tightly in her hand.

Danny motioned towards the house, “Asleep. Jackson made her cry.”

Lydia’s eyes narrowed on her boyfriend, before dismissing him with a sniff and continuing into the house.

Allison came back a few minutes later, grinning madly, her father gone home for the night. 

 

“And now,” she said, “the real party can start.”

Scott laughed at her, but started gathering up all the stray trash from the picnic tables and getting into the garbage. The rest of the pack pitched in to help, and they had the yard looking reasonably clean in no time.

By the time they’d trailed back in, Lydia was helping Allison arrange pillows on the floor in their living room.

“She’s getting big,” Lydia said once Danny had come in. He nodded with a grin on his face.

“You should send her to stay with your grandmother for a bit. She’d love that,” Lydia mused.

Danny froze. “What’d you see?” he asked, voice nervous. The whole pack stopped to watch them.

Lydia, for her part, only shrugged. “I saw her with your grandmother.” She said easily. And there was more to it, they all knew there was, but there was no point in arguing if Lydia didn’t want to share.

The young woman occasionally had dreams that turned into reality. As impossible as it sounded, it had countless times proven to be true. They’d tested it, of course, and it had ended in disaster. The last time someone had gone against one of Lydia’s predictions, well…Stiles had taken out a couple trees in the preserve and Danny had found out about werewolves.

Before they could all even settle in seats, Allison was talking.

"Has anybody seen the guy?" she called out, excitedly, over the din of their group gathering. Her brunette curls bounced with excitement, as though this was something she'd wanted to talk about for a while. Scott rolled his eyes, obviously he'd heard quite a bit about "The Guy". He wrapped an arm around his wife and pulled her to cuddle against him on the couch, leaning in to anchor his chin at her shoulder and nose at her neck. Such a fucking werewolf, Stiles found himself thinking, fondly.

Before they fell asleep, they talked about everything. Unbeknownst to the rest of Beacon Hills, they were  _ literally _ the rumor mill of the entire town. Apparently, the hot new gossip was "The Guy."

"I've seen him," Lydia nodded, "at the grocery store. Very, very nice." Jackson growled a little, and she playfully slapped at his arm, "Oh, hush you." She said, sending him a fond smile, and he quieted.

"Do we have any information other than, 'The Guy'?" Danny asked, arching an eyebrow. 

 

Allison hummed appreciatively, "Leather jacket, all muscles, broad shoulders, permanent five o'clock shadow, eyes like...I don't even know."

"Oh, that guy!" Danny cried out, and Stiles chuckled, assuming it was a joke. 

 

Danny shook his head, "No, seriously! He's been to the club. No jacket, but the muscles and the stubble and the eyes, totally." All eyes darted back and forth between Stiles and Danny. 

 

Stiles guffawed and made a wild gesture with his hands. "No. No, no, no, no, no. Just because he's gay doesn't mean I'm gonna fuck him. Geez, what do you take me for?"

Lydia gave him what he called her "Stiles special," a look that said he was incredibly cute, even as he was being incredibly stupid. "Someone who hasn't been laid in two years, honey."

"But Danny saw him first!" He whined. 

 

"No, Lyds is right. You need it more than I do." Danny nodded sagely. 

 

Jackson cackled from his spot on the loveseat next to Lydia.

"I do  not need your charity 'guy'!" Stiles exclaimed, outraged.

They ignored him, the conversation moving on, until eventually they'd passed out in the expected tangle of limbs on the floor. Sometime during the night, Abby did wake up, worming their way between them. Stiles woke up with a foot in his face and an elbow in his ribs, but he couldn’t imagine anything he’d trade it for.

But, duty called, and at 9:00 on the dot, he found himself sitting at his generic desk at the station, doing paperwork. His head was throbbing, he'd chugged three cups of coffee since he'd been here, and he honestly just wanted to bury his head in his hands and cry.

"Stilinski!" The new Sheriff, Jones, cried out. Stiles raised his head sharply, only to see him standing with a tall, willowy woman. He rose, tried valiantly to ignore his whirling head, and made his way over to them. He was about two feet away when her eyes narrowed, nostrils flaring slightly. Tilting his head, he shot her a nervous smile, and she shook her head a little and smiled back. She was beautiful. Her teeth sparkled perfectly, wide green gray eyes set like gemstones in her face, framed by flowing jet black hair.

"Stiles Stilinski, meet Laura Hale. Hale, Stilinski." Stiles nodded, held out his hand to shake, and when her hand took his, it was warm and comforting.

 

"Stiles?" She asked, incredulously, and Jones chortled. 

 

"You don't even want to know, kid. His dad was Sheriff before me though. He got a few of the genes."

Stiles gaped. Jones had been a deputy under his father. Decent guy, solid cop, but his sense of humor was hiding under a rock somewhere, so the young Stilinski had never been his favorite. Being called anything other than "spastic" was a high compliment from Jones.

"John Stilinski’s your dad?" She asked, eyes taking on a distant quality. 

 

Stiles grinned, "How many Stilinski's do you know?" Normally, most people smiled and shrugged, but she looked at him sadly. 

 

"Your mom and my Uncle Peter were friends once," she said, kind of quiet, like she wasn't sure it was okay. 

 

Immediately, it clicked in his head, he gasped and instinctively reached for her hand again (damn werewolves made him touchy feely), "Hale! Oh- oh my gosh, I'm so sorry." He sputtered, stroking one of her hands in both of his.

She nodded, and for a moment they just shared the silence of two kids with lost parents. 

Jones cleared his throat, "I wasn't in town, but everyone knows that fire was a tragedy. And you'll be hard pressed to find a single unkind word about Claudia." The older man said her name with a sort of reverence that made Stiles warm. People had loved his mom. 

 

The sheriff forged on. "Hale here was a detective in New York City," his chest already swelling like her accomplishments were his own, "She's decided to come back home, and we're grateful to have her. I've got to run out to Della Morris', she's certain someone's trying to break into her house."

Stiles snorted, "In broad daylight, of course," but Jones just shrugged. 

 

"She's all by herself on that land. Maybe she's really scared, maybe she just needs the company. Either way it falls under protect and serve." He turned to walk away, calling, "Show her the ropes, Stilinski!"

When he was gone, Laura commented, "Seems like a nice guy." 

 

Stiles shrugged, "I wouldn't go that far, but he's definitely got a soft spot for old ladies." They started walking towards the back, the holding cells and weapons locker, "He's a transplant. Hot shot deputy from San Francisco. His mom retired here, took over the diner when Rudy moved to Florida, and he moved up when her health got bad. Good cop. Doesn't run from the hard work, or delegate out everything. He does his fair share. Not a bad boss."

They'd made it all the way back to the weapons locker. Laura had been making little noises to show she was listening, nodding here and there. Now she stopped, turned fully to look at him, catching both of his hands between hers, and he tensed. Not from her touch, but because he was expecting some heartbreaking memory of his mother. It'd been fifteen years since she passed, and normally he was fine. He worried that this was one memory too many.

She squeezed slightly, regaining his attention, and then said, "I'm not going to hurt you," slowly and evenly, hands still holding his. She let her eyes slide from that striking hazel, to red.

Stiles' blood ran cold, but outwardly, he nodded, kept his heartbeat even. Werewolves he could deal with. Actually, it was probably best that if this was going to happen to anyone, it was him. His mind kept coming back, of course, to the sheer number of guns in this room. But those wouldn't be of any help to him now.

"Alpha Hale," he kept his tone even, "Welcome back to Beacon Hills. Though I'm sure you realize there are new wolves here now."

She dropped his hands, took a step back, drew herself up to her full height. "You're amazingly steady. Good quality in a human pack member. It figures, though," she murmured, more to herself than him. He nodded once anyway, to show he heard.

"Yes, Stiles. I know that there's a new pack here. What I don't understand is how? Why? For how long? Who's your Alpha?" Her questions were delivered confidently, and he knew she expected detailed answers to each. Stiles took a breath.

"The pack is mostly bitten wolves, one born. We've been here, as pack, for eight years. The how of it isn't my place to tell you. It's my Alpha's. Scott McCall." She seemed slightly miffed that he wasn't giving her everything, but his loyalties weren't to her, so she could kiss his ass.

"How many of you are there?" She tried. 

 

He shook his head, "That's not information I'm going to give you."

A low growl of warning started in her throat, and he ignored it in the most respectful way he could. "I'm certain you understand exactly why I won't, that it isn't meant as an insult." 

 

She quieted. "I do. But I have questions for your Alpha. Where can I find him? I'll swing by when my shifts done."

Up until now, Stiles thought he'd done a pretty good job of keeping his emotions under control. Now, though, he knew she could smell the anger coming off him, so he let his eyes narrow. "Human, yes. Stupid? No. I would be more than happy to have a discussion with my Alpha, and set up a formal meeting on neutral ground. But you and I both know this isn't a 'just drop by' situation."

She growled again, and he stood his ground. Eventually, he raised his eyebrows, just waiting for her to finish. At that, the growl curled into an open snarl, fangs extended, claws lengthening, for just a moment.

And then she was Laura again. Hazel eyes, pretty hair, laughing at the ceiling. "You, Stiles Stilinski, are infuriating. Speak to your Alpha, arrange something reasonable. I'm sure you know what's reasonable in our culture and what's not. You can reach me here," she pulled out a card and handed it to him, "One of my betas may answer." She supplied, and turned to head back towards the bullpen. Stiles looked over the card, reading the secret meaning in her words.

_ I'm not alone. _

He pulled his phone out and sent a hurried text.

To:  _ Pack _

_ Guys, we have a problem. If you're still at the house, STAY THERE. If you're not, GET THE FUCK BACK. DON'T LEAVE. _

From:  _ Scotty _

We're all still here. What's going on?

To:  _ Scotty _

Wolves in town. I met their Alpha today. Remember the Hales?

From:  _ Scotty _

Jackson & Lydia do. We're gonna do some digging. Are you okay? You need backup? What do we know?

To:  _ Scotty _

Laura Hale's their Alpha. She's not alone. I don't know how many of them there are. They don't know how many of us there are. They want to meet. I've got a number. I'm cool though. She's not gonna kill me.

From:  _ Scotty _

You sure? I don't like it. Where'd you meet her? Can you handle it?

To:  _ Scotty _

New deputy at the station. Yeah, I'm sure. She knew my mom, alright? She's not gonna kill me. And Scotty? I'm not worried. And you shouldn't be. I'll figure something out.

From:  _ Scotty _

SHE WORKS WITH YOU? Fuck, Stiles. I don't like this at all. I'm gonna come up there.

To:  _ Scotty _

Dude. No. She's not by herself. We don't know who's with her or what they want. You could be outnumbered. We don't have enough information. I'm good here. My shifts over at 3. I go home. She goes home. We figure it out.

From:  _ Scotty _

Fine. But if you get a feeling, ANYTHING, Stiles, you say something.

To:  _ Scotty _

Yessir.

Rising, he walked over to the desk Laura had claimed as her own. She had her feet kicked up on it, a case file settled on her knees, glasses settled on the bridge of her nose. Pulling over a chair, he plopped down in it backwards, forearms resting on the back.

"I'm assuming I can help you, Stilinski?" She drawled, not looking up.

"We don't know who your people are, and I'm not asking," he rushed out, throwing his hands up in a gesture of surrender, "but, until we can set an official meet, can we agree on enough of a truce that we can all get around town without brawling baby betas in the streets?"

"My betas are  _ not _ babies," she snapped. He arched an eyebrow in her direction in a movement that said “ _ All  _ betas are babies”, and she sighed, considering.

Finally, she nodded. "I'll make a call."

Stiles shot her his best smile. "Pleasure doing business, Alpha Hale." He could almost see her wolf preening at the acknowledgment.

He was back at his desk when he heard, "The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Stilinski."

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The McCall ranch was chaos when he got back. There was paperwork all over the place, more being printed as he spoke. Lydia and Danny were craned over a computer, talking low and quick. Allison was sitting on the couch, crying. Scott and Jackson were yelling at each other so viciously, he was surprised there weren't claws involved. Erica was between them, mediating. That's when he knew they were panicked. Erica?  **_Mediating?_ ** They'd totally lost their shit.

Immediately, he went to sit next to Allison, gathering her into his arms where she cried into his chest. "What's going on, Moonbeam?" It was Stiles' nickname for her, corny, but she settled a little to hear it. "I didn't know!" She sobbed, distraught. "Stiles, I swear on my father's life, I didn't know."

Having decided that he'd had more than enough screaming and crying and swearing on family members, Stiles placed a quiet kiss on Allison's temple, and crossed the living room to an old writing desk placed in the corner. So far, no one outside Allison had noticed he was there. He drew his secret weapon from the top drawer, returning to the living room, and blowing all the air in his lungs into the dog whistle.

Jackson and Erica covered their ears and hit the floor with a whine. Scott stopped talking, and pressed a hand to his temple, wincing. "Enough! Stiles! We got it!"

"Good." He replied, with absolutely no sympathy. "Now tell me what the hell's going on. Where’s Abigail?" He asked first.

“At my grandmothers for the week, like Lydia suggested,” Danny replied easily. Stiles nodded, then turned to the rest of the pack.

“We're fighting because ?” Jackson and Erica looked sheepish. Scott looked half furious, and half tired, stalking over to stand near Allison. He crossed his arms over his chest in his typical Alpha stance. He didn't need to use it often, their pack didn't really have a hierarchy. Lydia looked grim, and Danny awkwardly uncomfortable.

"Who's gonna start? Do I need to call on someone or can we be grown ups?"

"Apparently Allison's family hunts werewolves for a living." Danny blurted out from the corner, and Stiles choked. 

 

"WHAT?!"

"SHE DIDN'T KNOW!" Scott roared.

"It's also possible," Lydia continued, "that her aunt was responsible for the Hale House fire."

"Holy fucking shit," Stiles breathed, eyes flitting to Allison, who was just a mess of tears on the couch.

"When did we get this information?" He asked. Maybe, if he could put together a timeline, figure out when things had gotten so  _ fucked _ , he could figure this out.

"We did a sweep, when you said new wolves. Erica and Jackson did rounds on all our parents. My dad was gone," Allison began, hiccuping. "So I called him. Apparently the Hales sent him some sort of communication, told him they were coming. He told me the whole history. Over the fucking phone." She started to cry harder. "You remember how my mom died so soon after Scott was turned? S'cause that Alpha bit her. And she killed herself so she wouldn't be a..."

The tears overtook her, now. Scott huffed a sigh and dropped to the couch to soothe her. Stiles tried not to be angry. Chris Argent had always been a shifty bastard. They should've known. "Fucking coward move to leave you here, knowing they were coming for your family."

Allison shook her head. "He says he went to get my aunt. She's supposed to be in hiding in Utah somewhere. He thinks if he can bring her here, give them what they want, then they'll leave us alone."

"And sweet little Allison doesn't realize how bullshit that sounds."

"Don't fucking patronize her, Whittemore," Scott growled. Jackson rolled his eyes. 

 

"This is about where the argument started last time," Lydia supplied. Stiles nodded.

"It's not likely that he's going to give up his sister. I mean, what does he gain?" He asked, gently.

"Our safety? Our home? Our family?" Allison shrieked. 

 

Lydia shook her head. "You're thinking like pack right now. He's not. He's thinking like a hunter. Baiting the trap. Who's to say the plan isn't to come back with more hunters? They could kill every wolf in town. That includes your husband."

"That's how hunters protect their families and their lands. They remove the threat. They don't negotiate with it." Jackson added.

Stiles ran a hand over his face, leaning against the door jamb."I hate to say it, Moonbeam, but your dad's not our friend. And he left you here in the face of a werewolf pack with a vendetta. A vendetta against Argents."

"They're right," Scott murmured. She nodded once, twice, and when her eyes came up, they were hard with betrayal. It broke Stiles' heart.

"Okay. I need to get to my dads. He's got an armory. We need to raid it. We don't know what their numbers are, so we need all hands on deck. The non werewolves in this situation need to be able to get our hands dirty." She said sharply. 

 

Scott shook his head. "If they told Chris they were coming, and he left, they're watching your dads. Maybe even our place. We can't risk it."

"So what do we do?" Jackson spat, "Just sit around and twiddle our thumbs, knowing that more than half our pack is defenseless?"

"No," Stiles says, his voice low, but everyone's listening anyway, "We set the meet. See what they want."

"And what if they want Allison?" Jackson returns, sending a growl through Scott. 

 

Stiles just shrugged, "Then they go through us."

"Us?! Only three of us are capable of defending ourselves against them. No offense, but we can't be everywhere. Stiles’ ‘magic’, or whatever the hell we’re calling it, is unreliable. Lydia won’t know anything until we’re already in the situation. And Allison is pregnant!” Jackson was cut off by a sharp growl from Scott. Jackson tilted his head, baring his neck on instinct, before pushing on. “And what about Abigail?! We can't go to war with just us. We need those weapons."

 

The room was silent for a moment.

They hadn’t really discussed Allison’s pregnancy. It was the worst kept secret in the pack. Scott had told Stiles. The wolves could smell it. Stiles was pretty sure Jackson told Danny.

And Lydia, well, she just knew. Which surprised absolutely no one. She had a firm rule about spoiling the future outside of life or death situations.

"What if they don't know?" Lydia pipes up, still looking at her computer screen. Everyone stopped, and it was all eyes on her, just like she liked it.

"What do you mean?" Scott asked.

"What if they don't know about Allison? The Hale house fire was fifteen years ago. And it was just this Kate woman, supposedly. Chris, Victoria, and Allison didn't even  _ move _ here until six years after the fire. And she moved in with me the second she turned eighteen. You remember how Victoria freaked when you left? She took all your pictures down in the house. Did any ever get put back up?"

Allison shook her head, "Not the last time I was there. Dad doesn't really do family photos anymore. There's one in his wallet, but not in the house."

Lydia shook her head, resolutely. "We can't send her there. They might not know she's an Argent. We send her in there to get weapons? What if they're watching the house? Then, we're not only a rival pack-"

"We're a rival pack aiding and abetting the last Argent in Beacon Hills." Stiles finished. "So we set the meet."

"Without weapons," Danny shifted, "I mean, our odds aren't great."

"So we play to our strengths!" Lydia beamed. "We'll be  _ smarter _ than them."

"Turn our disadvantages into advantages." Danny nodded.

"How the fuck do we do that?" Jackson huffed.

"Neutral ground." Erica muttered. She'd been quiet for a while. 

 

"What do you mean?" Stiles prompted.

"They want to meet on neutral ground. But there isn't any, is there? They think it's their territory and we think it's ours. Everything about it is going to piss somebody off." She continued, a dangerous glint starting in her eye. 

 

It seemed Lydia was following. "So we'll bite the bullet. Concede the point. It'll make them feel better." She murmured. 

 

Stiles nodded, "It's a good plan,"

"Do I get to know what the plan is?" Scott asked, eyes bouncing from person to person, looking for answers. 

 

"They want to meet them in the woods immediately surrounding Hale house." Allison supplied. "They'd consider it their old stomping grounds, it would look like a courtesy. Us coming to them, acknowledging their claim to the territory."

"I don't see how it isn't exactly that." Scott huffed. 

 

"Because we run those woods all the time, and a lot more recently." Stiles threw in. "We know where the tunnels have collapsed. You remember that earthquake three years ago? There are ravines in those woods that weren't there before." 

 

Danny added, "So we meet them there, and it looks like a sign of weakness. But if it turns to a fight, we have the upper hand. And Stiles did that thing with the trees there once."

"That was an accident, and it might not be useful in a pinch." Stiles muttered.

Scott cut in, "No. We need every trick up our sleeve, every second of hesitation we can get. And you said it's easier if it's somewhere you've done it before."

Everyone's nodded. "When do we do this?" Jackson asked, skeptical.

"Soon," this from Erica. "They're wolves. Eventually they're going to run the woods. Can't let them get comfortable."

"And ideally, we'd like to get whatever issues we have resolved before the hunters come back to town. I'm thinking day after tomorrow night would be good."

Everyone was quiet. They seemed agreed. So Scott took a deep breath and nodded to Stiles. "Make the call."

Stiles slid down the door so that he was resting on the floor. Pulling his phone and the business card out of his pocket, he took a deep breath and dialed the number.

"What?" A gruff voice snapped into his ear. He maintained his cool for the sake of the pack. He knew they could hear both sides of the conversation, but if they sensed his agitation, it would make the whole situation decidedly less friendly. "This is Stiles Stilinski, is Laura available?" He asked calmly, mentally he was giving himself a huge pat on the back, until the other guy growled, which sent Jackson to growling, then Erica. Stiles held up the dog whistle and mouthed  _ Stop _ . They did.

"I'm sorry, did I say something wrong?" Stiles continued to keep his voice even. 

 

"You will address her with the proper authority at all times." The surly beta snapped, and Stiles fought a valiant fight against the urge to roll his eyes. 

 

"Is Alpha Hale available?"

"Whether she is or isn't is none of your concern. You'll be dealing with me." Geez, this guy! For an Alpha, Stiles usually didn't have any issue offering up the necessary courtesies. But who the  **fuck** was this guy?!

"And you are?" He let his voice turn dry, bored. 

 

"Derek Hale." He responded, voice all tightly restrained fury. "Laura's younger brother, and her second."

"Look," Stiles drawled, "I'm sure you deserve a good scratch behind the ears for those accomplishments, but they don't have much to do with why I'm calling."

"You will show me the respect I deserve as second," the wolf demanded.

"I will, as soon as you do the same!" It was out if his mouth before he could stop it. Jackson and Erica's eyes met, but Stiles was only really worried about Scott, whose eyes were on him. Considering.

There was sputtering on the other end of the line. "But you're...you're a human pack member. You're not suited to more than being an errand boy." Stiles raised his eyebrows at that, but stayed focused on his own.

Erica was giving a rapid play by play so Danny, Lydia, and Allison would know what was going on. Scott looked around at them, and everyone nodded, though Jackson's was extremely begrudging. Scott nodded for Stiles to continue.

"That's Deputy Sheriff Stiles Stilinski, to you, human second in command of the McCall pack," they'd never called themselves that before. Not once in eight years. It settled like a heavy weight in the room. Stiles forged on, "And I've got the dog whistle, so I make the rules. Now do you still want to meet, or not?"

**Derek**

_ Fucking infuriating-- _

Derek was fully shifted. His clawed hands dropped the phone before he smashed it. Laura was there before it even hit the table. She'd been sitting in an armchair while he took the call, a call she'd specifically told him to answer. Then she'd pretty much laughed at every single thing he'd said. More at the things the human said. Derek seethed, hating the fact that that whole thing had been a test. He was fairly certain he'd failed.

"Stiles!" Laura laughed into the phone. "Dog whistles on werewolves?" Her tone was friendly, amicable, he could hear the smile in the other man's voice as he responded to her.

"Alpha Hale, pleasure speaking with you." And, of course, now he was courteous. "And hey, whatever works, right?" 

 

Laura smiled, "Yes, I suppose so," she took a breath, "We are still anxious to meet with your pack. Have you all agreed on something?"

"Yes, ma'am. If it's alright with you, we would be willing to meet you in the woods immediately surrounding the old Hale house Tuesday night."

Derek and Laura tensed immediately. "Hale house is hardly neutral," Laura said.

"It was only meant as a courtesy. A show of faith. We come in peace, and we hope you do too. Should we be concerned with picking a venue that's more advantageous to us?" 

 

Laura smiled again. "No, Mr. Stilinski, you shouldn't. Hale house would be perfect. We appreciate the gesture. Do you mind if I ask why so soon?"

The human hesitated. "We have reason to believe that you and your brother at least, are born wolves." Laura tensed again. There was no reason for anyone to know that. 

 

"Do you, really?" She commented, noncommittal. 

 

"Yes. In comparison to the two of you, our pack is...new. And we've never had to share territory before. There's a concern for our collective control." 

 

Laura nodded. "Brawling baby betas in the streets," she murmured, and the human,  _ Stilinski _ , sighed. 

 

"Yes. And while we appreciate the truce we've called, I'd prefer not to push it any further than is necessary."

"Okay. Tuesday night. Is moonrise alright? At Hale house." Laura confirmed. Stilinski agreed that moonrise was fine and the call was disconnected. Immediately, all the warmth left her.

"Get down here! All of you!"

Derek tried not to sink back into the couch a little when her eyes, flashed red and furious, landed on him. Isaac, the second beta she'd turned, and Boyd, the first, plopped down on either side of him. They were wary, but they also seemed to understand that they weren’t the ones in trouble. Which was ridiculous, but whatever.

"You even smell self righteous." She sneered, pacing. "What the hell was that?" She gestured in the direction of the phone. 

 

Derek shrugged. "He was disrespectful." 

 

Laura looked incredulous. "Right. Because you were a ray of fucking sunshine."

"He doesn’t deserve my  _ respect _ !" Derek exploded.

"And why the hell not?!" She boomed right back, looking almost like she wanted to jump over the coffee table and throttle him. "Because he's human? Little brother, tell me you're not that stupid." Her tone softened, and she shook her head, but her eyes still blazed red when they met his. She crouched down, elbows on the table, surveying her betas.

"You were young, when it happened." She began, softly. 

 

"Not as young as you think," he responded, she tilted her head slightly, nodded once in concession. 

 

"You're right, probably not as young as I think. But definitely not as old as you think. Not if you've forgotten so quickly."

She paused, as though she wasn't sure what to say. "Trevor was human, you know." 

 

Derek's heart stopped. "No...no, the change just didn't happen until puberty." 

 

Laura shook her head, "No, Der. He was human. It wasn't in his blood. He never would've changed."

"How's that even possible?" Boyd hesitated from his corner of the couch. 

 

Laura faced him, "It's a weird thing that happens sometimes to the offspring of bitten wolves. Two born wolves will produce wolves every time. With a born wolf and a bitten wolf, maybe seventy percent will come out wolves. With a born wolf and a human, or two bitten wolves, it's about fifty fifty. With a bitten wolf and a human it's even lower." She said. "Our mom was born, but our dad was bitten. And our youngest brother, Trevor, was human."

"I always thought, they always treated him like he was so special. Him and Aunt Charlie and Lauren. Were they all?" Derek's words caught in his throat when Laura nodded. 

 

"Dad was human when they got married, you know. It was three years before he let her turn him."

"Would you have treated our father, our brother, our aunt, or our cousin, the way you just treated Stiles Stilinski?" She asked quietly, and he knew shame was rolling off him in waves. "Because I met him, face to face today, and he's one of the most solid seconds I've ever met in my life. Respectful but firm. And he was never afraid of me. Pissed me off to the point of shifting almost, but he never once smelled of fear." A small smile flitted across her face, "Right now? I'm jealous of McCall pack. I'm envious of their Alpha, that he lucked into such a wonderful second." His growl was silenced before it could well up properly in his chest.

"Listen to me and listen good, you brats," Isaac and Boyd straightened, knowing they were now included in the lecture. "The only thing that makes us anything more than mutated animals running around the woods is the human aspect of us. We are not better than them. Physically stronger, faster, more in tune with our senses, sure. But not better. We need them to survive. They do NOT need us. You will  _ never _ be disrespectful or discourteous to a human being for no reason, except that they are a human being. They are good for more than holding a change of clothes at the end of a full moon run. They are not to be underestimated or taken lightly. And it is stupidly arrogant to assume that just because we're stronger, we're impervious. A single angry human can destroy a pack." Her eyes flitted to Derek, green again, and sad. "You, of all people, should know that."

And she walked away.

Derek ran. Ran until he thought he'd finally gotten so far ahead of the shame that it couldn't reach him.

The shame was there waiting for him when he got home.

**Boyd**

People tended to think Vernon Boyd was a loner. His dad split, his mom died, and nobody really paid him much attention after that. Because he was big, they also tended to assume he could take care of himself. And he could, dammit, he could. He just didn't always want to.

No, Boyd wanted a house full of people and laughter, wrestling and screaming over each other. He wanted somebody to be around him long enough to tell an embarrassing story when he brought a girl home. He wanted people who he knew well enough to really talk to if he felt like it. And people he knew well enough that he didn't have to talk if he didn't want. He wanted a family.

He was hauling boxes into a moving truck for six dollars an hour, taking whatever crap jobs he could get to makes ends meet, when Laura found him. She'd been a detective on a homicide near by. Wanted to ask him if he knew anything. He didn't, but she smiled at him, told him to call when he was off, that she had more questions for him, that she'd buy him lunch. He almost blew it off. Almost. He tried to keep busy, keep working, but a free lunch wasn't something he could afford to pass up.

So he'd met the detective, who introduced herself as Laura Hale, and her brother Derek at their home later that afternoon. They'd made way too much food. They'd laughed and teased each other the whole time. Laura told stories about the time Derek had gotten stuck in a tree trying to save a puppy. Derek told the story of how Laura had crashed the family car on prom night because she'd wanted to howl at the moon. They were warm and close and everything he ever wanted.

Boyd sees it now, for what it was. A courting. They kept inviting him, kept feeding him, kept making him feel like he belonged with them, and when they shifted into something that went bump in the night before his very eyes, he'd shrugged with one shoulder and said, "Sign me up."

They were his family and he was loyal. Laura was meddlesome and nurturing, but she could also kick his ass if he thought too hard about stepping out of line. So he didn't. Derek was quiet, like him, and dependable. His ability to listen was uncanny, and he read between the lines to an extent that was almost inhuman. He knew if you we're having a bad day, and how to fix it. He had a temper, sure, but it was usually quickly controlled. He only ever really let loose in the first place if he was caught completely off guard. All in all, Boyd thought he would make a great Alpha one day.

But Boyd’s faith had been shaken by Derek’s behavior the night before. So when the call came in that a Stilinski needed a Jeep pulled to a garage, he made sure he was the first to respond. He figured if he could introduce himself, he could show that they weren’t all hostile like Derek had been. There was no reason to make the situation any more tense than it already was.  

Hopping out of the truck, he made his way over, taking in the now infamous Stiles Stilinski. The man turned and took his outstretched hand. "Hey, thanks for coming out so quickly." The younger man said. 

 

"Consider it a courtesy from Hale pack." He said with a smile. Stiles' eyes widened, and his scent spiked with something effervescent, that Boyd could only call surprise. 

 

"I appreciate it. I'm Stiles." 

 

Boyd nodded. "I've heard. Vernon Boyd. But everyone just calls me--"

His guard was down. He should've been paying more attention and then all the sudden he was barreled into by a blonde blur. He hit the ground, rolled, planted his feet in her gut and  _ pushed _ . The crack of a body hitting a tree somewhere behind him was viscerally satisfying. He surged up, shifted, ready to tear Stilinski's throat out when he heard her, charging again. She didn't stay down long, he thought. It was admirable, which made what he was going to do to her that much more of a shame. 

 

He turned to take the charge just as there was a muttered, "Fucking hell," and a shouted, "Erica, STOP!"

The blonde froze. She was furious, and vibrating with it, other than that, she didn't move a muscle.

 

"Put them away." 

 

She shifted back slowly, and Boyd had to focus to keep his breath from catching in his throat. Of course she was fucking beautiful. She caught the slip anyway, perfect pink lips twisted into a sneer.

"Mr. Boyd, if you'd be so kind." Stilinski was steady and sure.

"How do I know there aren't more of you coming?" He snarled.

"To be honest with you, Mr. Boyd--"

"Boyd. Just Boyd."

Stilinski nodded. "Alright. To be honest with you Boyd, there are two more wolves here than I was expecting. I was just digging in my backseat for a cd I tossed back there at some point, took my eyes off the road for too long, somehow missed this huge fucking tree in the middle of it, and subsequently crashed my car. I’m thinking that sent out the kind of mental and emotional distress call that pack would notice? And, y’know, because I'm squishy and vulnerable, Erica comes to make sure I'm okay. She gets close, smells wolf, thinks I'm being attacked, and panics. I apologize for her actions, but if you could just--"

"Don't apologize for me!" The blonde, Erica apparently, shrieked. "Any beta with a shred of loyalty would've done the same. Would you have left your second in a fight?"

Boyd shrugged but shifted back. "Derek can handle himself." 

 

Just like that, she was in his face and snarling, "So can Stiles!"

"ERICA!" 

 

She stopped. Backed away, paced. 

 

Boyd quirked an eyebrow. She could be great if she knew how to control that energy. Luckily, he had some place she could put it. "You wanna help me turn the truck around?" He called out. 

 

She whirled on him, "What?"

 

He shrugged. "Roads too small for me to do it the regular way. I'm gonna need to lift it," he could do it himself, but, he found he really  _ wanted _ her calm, so he baited her, "Unless you think it's too much."

Her reaction was immediate. Stomping over to the truck and lifting a corner, gesturing wildly for him to get on with it.

Moments later, they had the Jeep hooked up and were ready to go. Boyd faced the two of them. "Only room for two in the cab."

Stiles nodded. "Yeah. Erica, you can take off."

"I'm not going anywhere." She snapped back immediately, and Stiles opened his mouth to say something but Boyd just held up a hand. 

 

"It's fine. I get it. She can ride in the Jeep." He turned to get into the truck.

With everyone settled, they began the ten minute drive back to town, Boyd pulled out his phone, hitting the first number and let it ring.

 

"Yeah?," Derek barked into his ear. 

 

"I've got Stiles Stilinski and one of the betas. Guy's Jeep hit a tree. We're about ten minutes out."

"Fine," Derek barked again, and the line was disconnected. 

 

Stiles arched an eyebrow, but Boyd said nothing, and Stiles let it go.

"Hey, blockhead! Ask my fearless leader if I can have one of these cookies." He heard Erica clearly from her place in the Jeep.

"Goldilocks wants to know if she can have a cookie." He relayed.

"Goldilocks?  _ Seriously _ ?"

Came at the same time as:

"Goldilocks.  **Goldilocks** , Erica! Ahh, this is never going away. I hope you know this is never going away." Stiles laughed, "And no. Paws and claws off the cookies. They're important."

"I am going to be creative in the ways that I torture you." The blonde muttered, and Boyd relayed the message. 

 

The human shook his head. "Nah, man, that was for you."

"He's right."

"Well maybe I like a little pain," he muttered, too low for Stiles to hear, but Erica heard clearly, he could smell the roil of mixed emotions, hear the quick, "Huh," that was supposed to sound non committal, but just ended up sounding rife with possibility.

She took a moment before she said, "Tell him I just want a small piece. There's like a bajillion cookies here, and they smell really good."

He opened his mouth to speak, but Stiles just held up a hand. "Erica, if more than a few  _ crumbs _ are missing from that tray when it gets to where it's going, you will wish your biggest worry was choking on your tongue." He snapped. Boyd quirked an eyebrow, "You could hear her?"

"No, I  know her. It's a thousand times worse." Stiles tossed back, and Boyd chuckled.

From the back, Erica muttered, "Low blow.” 

 

He smelled the hurt in waves rolling off of her. "She says low blow. She sounds really upset."

"Oh God, I," he straightened, shame painting his face, "listen to me, Sunshine,"

"Don't call me that while  _ he's _ here--" she whined.

Stiles turned so that he was looking through the back window of the tow truck, straight into the Jeep. Erica was spread out across the backseat, pouting. He sighed. " I don't care who's around to hear because you are my sunshine. My only sunshine. You make me happy, when skies are gray," he spoke the words to the song with a ferocity that Boyd had only experienced with Laura. Like he was going to show this girl how much he cared for her, and there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it.

Always a fighter, she tried anyway.

"It's California, Stiles, the weather's always great here--"

"I don't wanna hear shit about the weather patterns, Reyes, not a single fucking thing!"

"How many times have you had this conversation?" Boyd cautioned to ask.

"Too many," came simultaneously. Stiles turned somber.

"You'll never know, dear, how much I love you. So please, like, don't take my sunshine away, alright? I'm sorry."

She sighed. "I forgive him."

"She forgives you."

"Good. You can have a cookie. ONE COOKIE, Erica. I need those for a thing please don't eat them all." The young man twisted back in his seat, facing forward.

"Sir, yes sir," she chirped happily, already munching. 

 

Boyd just sat quietly, soaking it up. Laura had told them that a lot of packs weren't like theirs. Weren't family. But this one obviously was. There was so much love coming off these two, he felt drawn to it. He had a pack, had a family, but he kind of wanted this one too. He marveled at any connection that allowed a human and a wolf to communicate across such huge distances at such accuracy. It was amazing and terrifying.

"Why are you guys even here?" Erica asked from the back, both of them aware that Stiles couldn’t hear her. Boyd didn't answer. "'Cause you get it. I can smell it on you. You understand that this is the most important thing. To have pack like this, love like this? You know that wolves would tear the world apart for it. So I hope you don't want a fight. We've got more to lose."

Boyd couldn't say anything. Couldn't feel anything. It was too great a risk to admit he had no idea why they were here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Update: Dec 14, 2018


	3. Interlude: The Merchant from Montpelier

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A) Definity forgot it was Friday   
> B) This was beta’d in its first iteration but I’ve rewritten it like four times so, at this point any mistakes are my own.

**UAugust, 1946**

Their affairs were in shambles. While Valencia was still underage, her father’s businesses reverted to Guillermo, who thought it best if Flora handle them, as she was the closest. Flora complained that she didn’t have time. The shop’s finances bounced back and forth between them. It was Ina, who’d been working at the shop the longest, who eventually stepped in and told them that, with their permission, she’d handle the books. They were immeasurably grateful. This opened up time for the bigger problem.

As an only child, when she came of age in September, all of her father’s ownings would, technically become hers. However, an unmarried woman wasn’t allowed to claim that amount of property. It would all be reverted back to the state if they couldn’t find her someone to marry in the two month span between when she returned home from Madrid at the end of July and her birthday at the end of September. Flora put in calls and inquiries and made visits to everyone their family had ever called a friend. Looking for someone suitable: Established, not greedy, not violent, not too much older, preferably never married before, definitely no children, trustworthy.

In the end, only one choice made himself available. A young man by the name of Jean Paul Baptiste. He was twenty five, and his family owned shops all over France, but he was stationed in Montpelier. He had agreed to come to Vigo immediately, and spend as much time getting to know Valencia as possible before they were married. It was agreed. Val was miserable.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Ina soothed, bouncing her precious baby boy on her hip. Her modest ring caught on the light, and Valencia stopped for a moment to take in the scene. It seemed as though since she’d married David, Ina’s features had settled. Her very nature was softer, quieter. 

 

“You think everything’s going to be fine now. Marriage doesn’t transform people the way it did you, Inny,” she retorted. Then sighed, none of this was Ina’s fault. She deserved happiness and she deserved for it to be as easy as it apparently was for her. Meet a boy in the market, fall in love, get married, pop out babies. It was Valencia’s life that seemed doomed to be hard.

Ina swung around, shifting the baby who was trying to catch the sunbeams that streamed through the window. He giggled freely and his mother smiled, humming with contentment. “I think it does, if it’s done properly.”

“No,” the younger girl shook her head, “ _ love _ does that. Not marriage. You married David because you love him, and now you’re all soft and sure and sickening,” she waved a dismissive hand in the new bride’s direction and earned a snort in reply. 

 

“You cried harder than I did at the wedding. And when this one was born,” she lifted the baby high above her head, reveling in his squeals, “I’m hardly the sickening one.”

Sighing, Ina left the window and dropped down on the loveseat next to her long time friend, depositing the baby in her lap. Biting back a smile, Valencia shifted him so that he was standing on her legs, but when he gurgled a grin at her, and reached out to fist a handful of warm ebony hair into his mouth, she resigned herself to being utterly charmed.

The downfall of knowing someone for as long as Ina had known her, was that she could sense her weakness a mile off. She tried again. “I’m sure it’ll be fine, Val. Aunt Flora has never made anything other than the prudent decision. She wouldn’t send you off to slaughter the way you’re thinking. It’ll be a good match.”

“He’s twenty five, Inny,” Valencia let the fear finally seep into her voice. “Eight years older than me. How can it be a good match? He’s some rich merchant from France. It’s to save the family from losing all their money. That’s all it is.”

“It’s 1946, Valencia! There are rich merchants all over the place. He’s just a man. A man who went to great lengths and agreed to major inconveniences for your hand in marriage. He’s leaving his work and his home to come stay here with you, ease you into it. That’s kind, Val. He doesn’t have to do that. And, anyway, David is six years older than me. We’re still a good match, aren’t we?”

“That’s because you’re smarter than him.” Valencia rolled her eyes, not wanting to agree with her friends infallible logic.

“And you’re smarter than me,” Ina turned to face her friend fully, pouring all of her love and confidence into the stare, “so you’ll definitely be smarter than some rich French merchant.”

 

A clock struck in the corner of the room, and Ina grumbled. “I have to go, I have a shift at the shop, and I have to get Elijah over to Marta for the afternoon.” She gathered the baby up close to her chest. “Promise me you’ll  _ try _ , Val. Talk to him. Read him a book, you tell all the stories best.”

Valencia rolled her eyes and rose, pulling her best friend into a one armed hug, and kissing the baby on the forehead. “I promise I’ll try. Though I can’t imagine reading a twenty five year old man the books we read as children.”

“As children!” Ina scoffed, “The books we read now!”

Valencia had no clue how she did it, but she was smiling when Ina left.

The smile stayed, natural and true, until four hours later when Aunt Flora called her to the house’s foyer. She couldn’t fathom how she’d missed the door, yet somehow she had. Trying not to scurry, as she had a tendency to, she focused all her energy on  _ gliding _ as she walked into the foyer.  _ Sailing, maybe _ , she thought, as her mind started to run away from her. Sailing she could handle, though gliding would be ideal. As long as she wasn’t trudging, or scurrying. She was not a mouse or a mountain troll, thank you very much. Aunt Flora’s withering glance when she arrived told her, her entrance hadn’t been as regal as she would’ve liked.

“Valencia Diana Marie Montenegro,” she announced anyway, dragging out her full given name. Val gave a small curtsy, but mostly just because she didn’t know what else to do. When she raised her head, she was met with blue, blue eyes. Scanning further, there was a shock of dark hair, a slightly upturned nose, thin lips, and a square chin. The man before her looked very…normal. “I would like to introduce you to Jean Paul Baptiste, heir to one of the larger merchant families in Montpelier.”

Cringing internally, Valencia gave the man a small smile. It was customary that Valencia be presented to the suitor first, not for him to be introduced to Valencia. He was the more affluent one, his comforts should come first. Her aunt rebuked the notion, saying that this was Valencia’s house now and her comfort would come first. If her suitor took too much offense to it, they’d find someone else, she’d said. Like they had time for that.

He didn’t seem to take any offense at all, though, actually.

She offered her hand, and he lifted it to his mouth, running dry lips across her knuckles. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, my lady.” She ducked her head, tried not to blush. Never once in her seventeen years had she been referred to as anyone’s  _ lady _ . It was almost laughable. She’d have to tell Ina about it later. She’d just have to. But in the meantime, “The pleasure’s mine, sir.” She tried to keep her voice demure.

Jean Paul just nodded. Valencia stood there, staring. She didn’t know what to do or what was appropriate. She’d been expecting grandeur, or arrogance. Someone in too many layers of clothing for Vigo’s warmth, or a valet with a schedule. Instead, she got the perfectly normal looking man, standing in her foyer, looking just as awkward and confused as she was.

“Would you like a tour of the house?” She blurted, not knowing where it came from, but it seemed to ease the tension between them, and her aunt agreed immediately. “That would be lovely, Val-encia.” 

 

Apparently, her childhood name couldn’t be uttered in the French merchant’s presence. “I’ll leave you to it. I’ll be in the study, if I’m needed!” She called out over her shoulder as she made a hasty retreat.

“Traitor,” Valencia muttered under her breath. “What was that?” Jean Paul leaned in to better hear her, and she blushed again, “Oh, no, nothing. Sorry. This way,” she sputtered, leading him through the house.

It couldn’t be said, by anyone, that she didn’t make a valiant attempt at conversation. Jean Paul proved even quieter than David. Though, to be fair, David’s quiet wasn’t  _ really _ quiet, he was just careful about who he spoke to. He and Valencia were similar in that way, Ina swore it was what drew her to both of them. “It’s my natural curiosity. I just have to know what’s going on inside brains like those.” David and Valencia had looked at her fondly.

Valencia smiled at the memory, and then, suddenly, she was struck with inspiration. She would be Ina. She would be quick and smart and funny and relentless, like Ina, until Jean Paul Baptiste, esteemed merchant of Montpelier, smiled and laughed and told jokes with her. This would be her mission.

Changing course, she led him in the direction of the library. He hadn’t said a word since she’d stopped speaking some time before, following her dutifully, nodding when he was supposed to. She’d have to fix that. An overwhelming sense of mischief flooded her. This was going to be fun.

“Do you read? For leisure?” She asked politely in French. She’d noticed that his Spanish was flawless, and she wanted to showcase her skills as well. He looked obviously surprised, but not pleased as she was hoping, when he shook his head. 

 

“Not for leisure. I’ve never really found the time.” He responded, “Your French is very good.” There was no praise in it, it was stated as fact, which was fine. Her French was very good. Ina had also taught her Polish when she was young. And she could speak passable English.

 

“Thank you,” she said anyway, sitting down in her favorite armchair near the bay windows, and motioning for him to sit across from her. “I read anytime I’m not studying, or visiting with Ina and the baby,” he nodded again, though it was obvious he had no idea who she was referring to. 

 

“During the war, my family housed a Polish family, the Koziks. Their daughter and I became very close.” She watched him closely, though the war was over, few still had very strong feelings about Jews and their treatment. Valencia would not marry anyone who couldn’t accept Ina’s place in her life.

But of course, Jean Paul just nodded.

Snatching a book off the end table, she held it up to him, “Have you heard of this one?” It was Treasure Island, and he nodded. “I haven’t read it. I know the gist of the story, though.” 

 

She smiled at him, and he blinked twice, as though he wasn’t expecting it. “I could read it to you, if you’d like? It doesn’t seem we have much to talk about, and it would be a pleasant way to pass the time. If you don’t like it, I could pick another, or…not…” she hesitated when he didn’t respond, and for the first time, he moved, leaning forward in his seat, “No! No. I’d…like that, very much. If you would read it to me. Thank you.”

Nodding, she shifted in her seat, settled the book against her knees, and began to read, “Squire Trelawner, Dr. Livesy, and the rest of these gentlemen, having asked me to write down the whole particulars about Treasure Island, from the beginning to the end, keeping back nothing…”

:::::::

And that’s how it began. She read to him for four hours that first day. When Aunt Flora found them, and reminded Jean Paul of the time, he seemed loathe to leave before the story was finished. This emotion didn’t show in his face though, obviously. It was reflected more in the speed (or lack thereof) with which he left the library.

Valencia hadn’t realized how the reading had affected him until she treaded quietly behind him and her aunt towards the front door. As they walked away from those armchairs settled cozily against bay windows, she watched the tension creep back into his shoulders, his stance shifting. He was bristling with French formality again when he bid them goodbye. But he looked at her very intensely for a very long time before reminding her that he would be back in two days time, and hoped that they could finish the book.

When he returned, they did. She snuck chocolates from the shop into the library, to test him (who could trust someone who didn’t eat chocolate?), she was delighted when he ate his piece and hers. Since Danielle’s party, which she tried not to think about, she couldn’t remember laughing as hard as she had when he realized and set about apologizing profusely.

When the book was done, she led him on adventures through the gardens, they talked about her dreams and her plans, and Ina, and how she hated war, and how she didn’t know what she wanted to do when she was older, too flighty to help in her father’s shop, with absolutely no aptitude for figures. And how scared she was, of everything. Jean never made a sound, but she was always struck with the feeling that he was listening.

On his fourth visit, exactly a month before they were to be married, he grabbed her arm as they walked a familiar path through her family’s garden, turning her to look at him. “Have you ever thought about maybe having…children?” His eyes were on the ground, and his weight shifted from what foot to the other. Slipping her hand into his, not caring about whether it was appropriate or not, she whispered, “As many of them as we can handle.”

His smile was as blinding as she always knew it would be. He told her about growing up with brothers and sisters, about childhood friends, about playing soldier and pirate, about how now, he lived in the family house alone, everyone off to live their own lives with their own families, and he had nothing. About how much he wanted the echoes of laughing children through the halls again.

He talked to her. He smiled with her. He laughed with her.

And immediately she knew, however quiet he may be, he was hers, and their life together would be an adventure.

Maarah’s curse never entered her mind.

**September 1946**

“I can’t believe you’re not coming,” Valencia pouted, as she and Ina packed all of her belongings into boxes and bags. “I can’t believe this is the last time I’m going to see you.” She glanced up at her best friend, tears welling up in her eyes. Ina rushed over to her across the room. “I know, Val, I know, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. David and I…” But the younger girl just nodded. She knew. Ina was pregnant again, and much more ill than she’d been the first time. Miss Anna and Aunt Flora assured her that meant this one would be a girl. “Women are always more difficult,” Valencia had muttered, something her father used to say, and earned herself a smack on the arm.

The illness, however, prevented Ina from traveling. With Valencia getting married, and moving from her native Vigo, Spain, to live in Montpellier, France with her new husband, Ina had decided to cut her ties with Spain as well. When the baby was born and she could travel, she and David planned to make the dangerous journey to America. Soon, the girls would be separated by oceans, and neither of them was taking it well.

“Will he let you get mail?” Ina whispered. Valencia nodded furiously, “Yes, yes.” She chuckled, “He lets me do whatever I want.”

“Valencia!” Uncle Guillermo, who’d come into town to assist with the packing, called from the bottom of the stairs. “The train leaves in two hours. Whatever you don’t have ready you’ll just have to ship. Get the things that are important to you, I’ll come up and bring everything you have boxed downstairs. You and Ina have an hour. One hour! Then we must go.”

They both made work of sealing their last boxes, even going so far as to push them out into the hallway, to make it easier for Mr. Montenegro to get them downstairs. With that done, they collapsed in tears on the bed and reminisced.

“You remember when you first came here?” Valencia snuffled, “You were so beautiful. All that hair, and the prettiest dress. I was so jealous. You looked like a pirate princess.”

“I was dirty, Val.” Ina sighed, “I’d been on a boat for a month. I was just barely twelve. I felt ridiculous. My homeland was being bombed and torn apart, and I was wearing a party dress. My brother had died. My father was ill. And you just wanted to play. I hated you.”

“I just knew we were going to be the best of friends.”

“You were right, little one. You’re always right.”

“He’d make a place for you, if you wanted. Who needs America?” You could live in France. With me. We could be sisters forever.”

But Ina just shook her head, eyes filled with sadness. “David needs America. The land of opportunity, you know. He wants to make a fortune there. Raise a family. Does your Jean Paul want a family?”

“Yes,” Valencia blushed. It was the only thing he’d ever really truly expressed wanting, and Valencia was determined to give it to him. Even though, the process by which said children were to be born was still a little terrifying for her.

“What was it like? Making babies?” She whispered, almost afraid to ask. This was the one thing she and Ina had never talked about. It hadn’t been appropriate to speak to such a young girl about these things, she’d said when Valencia had first asked almost four years prior. Now, though, she was talking to a woman on the way to her wedding.  It couldn’t hurt.

“It was good, Val. Just make sure he goes slow, the first time. If he goes slow, and pays attention, it can be so good. It’ll hurt, at first. But just a little, and only the first time. I’m sure he’ll be gentle with you. You’ve said that he’s gentle.”

Valencia nodded. “He’s like David, but quieter.” Ina laughed at that, as though there was some joke Valencia wasn’t in on yet. “It’s always the quiet ones,” she chuckled. Then sobered, “Don’t be afraid, after you’ve gotten the hang of it, to try new things, okay? It’s supposed to be fun. Even if there aren’t any babies made, it’s supposed to be fun.”

Valencia hesitated, “New things like what?”

Ina hesitated, listening, and then looking around to make sure no one was coming up into the room. Her voice dropped to a whisper, “Sometimes, David likes to lick me…down there.”

“What?! No. That can’t be—“

“It’s good, Val. It’s  **so** good. And he wants it. He loves it. It gets me so wet.”

“That’s good?” Valencia was squirming with discomfort, but Ina’s eyes were kind. “Yes. Very. It helps him…get inside. It can be very uncomfortable if you’re not.”

The younger girl nodded.

“He’ll know what he’s doing, though. Years older than you. And wealthy,” Ina inclined her head once, sharply, as though it was settled, “He’ll know how to make it good for you.”

 

“I won’t have anything to compare it to. How will I know?”

“Your whole body will feel like it’s on fire, but you’ll never want it to stop. Your insides will go molten, especially here,” she motioned to the area under her friend’s belly button, “then everything will tighten, and you’ll explode.” Ina’s voice had gone dreamy, and she sighed. Valencia didn’t understand. The only time she’d felt anything even close to that, it had ended in her puking into a bale of hay. “That sounds terrible,” she mumbled.

Laughter bubbled from the older woman’s chest. “I know! Oh, I know. It does, doesn’t it? But that’s the only way I can describe it. You’ll—“

“Ina! Valencia! We have to go!”

Ina started crying first, but Valencia caught up to her with surprising speed. They clung to each other, sobs thickening their words until they were things only the two of them could understand.

“You and David will be brilliant in America. The Stilinski’s will be the new Rockefellers in no time,” Valencia whispered, voice broken. “I’ll never have to worry about snobby society wives. I’ll just tell them my best friend is the wife of some rich Frenchman.” Ina giggled, but it was cut off by sobs.

“Oh my God, Ina. I’m going to be the wife of some rich Frenchman! I’m going to ruin it. I’m going to ruin it, aren’t I?”

“You are not! You won’t, Val, breathe. You’ll be fantastic. You’ll take such good care of him. You take care of  _ everybody _ . If anyone’s going to ruin anything, it’ll be him. And if he does, Valencia, I’ll send for you. I promise. No matter what. No matter when. No matter how far. I’ll send for you.”

This inspired a fresh wave of sobbing, until Valencia’s uncle had to physically separate them, though he did it gently.  Valencia and Ina had been inseparable since they were nine and twelve, respectively. When Ina’s father died, Valencia wouldn’t allow her to be put out, instead, they housed her, and let her work in the shop. She was educated in the kitchen with Valencia, ahead by leaps and bounds, but patient. Valencia’s father had provided a small dowry when she’d married. To lose Valencia to France and Ina to America was to lose two daughters of the Montenegro family for the price of one.

Stepping out onto the landing, Valencia winced as she realized that, at some point, her uncle had moved the boxes from immediately outside of her door. She flushed red, wondering which part of the conversation they’d been at when that had happened.

They’d agreed as to how they would handle this. They could not cry once they’d crossed the threshold of the house. If they did, they were afraid they’d never stop. So they lingered for an extra five minutes behind the door, reminding each other of small things. “Don’t get too frustrated with him, Val. Being married is hard in the beginning.” Ina murmured. “You wanted to name a girl after your mother. You always told me not to let you forget. Don’t forget, Inny. Don’t forget.”

And when Valencia got into the car, she wiped away her last tear, and she didn’t look back.


	4. Ch 2: Welcome Back to Beacon Hills II

**Derek**

There had been a time, before the fire, when Derek was a fairly social creature. He’d played basketball and had friends over to the house. He’d gone on dates with girls, and been invited to pool parties. He’d waved at people on the street when going into town for ice cream, or to run errands for his parents. It seemed so far away now, but Derek knew he hadn’t always been this way, this closed off and wary. 

 

Kate had changed a lot of things for him. She’d murdered his family. She’d destroyed his confidence in himself, because that confidence was bred from having a pack behind him. Laura had done all she could, and she’d grown to be an amazing Alpha, but Derek still remembered the nights in New York where she’d tried to use the shower to muffle the sound of her sobbing. When she’d talked to him while he pretended to sleep, admitted that she had no idea what to do. 

 

But Kate had also taken away the part of him that trusted  _ people _ . Fifteen year old Derek had known that humans weren’t bad by nature. There were good ones and bad ones, just like anything else. But thirty two year old Derek struggled with that same concept. 

 

He’d had trouble with Boyd at first, too. When Laura first brought him home, he’d smelled like hunger and loneliness. They fed him, and fed him, and talked about everything until he didn’t smell of hunger anymore. Until he smelled of them, of pack. But still, Derek had begged Laura not to let him so close. In those dark years in New York, everyone had been an enemy, a spy. It was only him and Laura. 

 

His Alpha, though, had been firm in her decision. They needed this. They needed to build and grow and be a pack again. Derek  _ hated _ it, but he also lived in fear that this one last pack bond would fray, and that he’d be truly alone in the world. So Laura bit Boyd, and Derek watched him, and watched him, and watched him. Until he learned that under all that muscled stoicism, Boyd was funny. That he was kind, and caring, good with children and small animals. That he couldn’t cook  _ at all,  _ but when his turn came up on the dinner rotation, he still tried. For months, he’d served them burnt concotions with a shrug. “I can’t stay bad at it forever.” He’d say, and Laura would beam at him, and shove the food down her throat as fast as possbile, burning her tongue to avoid tasting it. 

 

“Can’t stay bad at it forever,” Derek muttered, pacing the small office in the mechanic’s shop. 

 

They were back in Beacon Hills now. Laura had been sparse on the details, but it didn’t matter. They were back. People knew who he was here. Old teachers, and kids he’d gone to school with, and girls he’d flirted with. The fire had changed him, and people knew that. He was given a pretty wide berth around town. But Beacon Hills meant people.  _ Human  _ people, that Derek was going to have to deal with on a regular basis. One of those people was Stiles Stilinski. 

He had been properly chastised by Laura last night, and once the knee jerk pain of an angry alpha wore off, he knew she was right. It wasn’t fair for him to treat this man like an enemy just because he was human. Laura liked him, Laura trusted him. If nothing else, he would trust his Alpha’s, his sister’s opinion. When Stilinski got here, he would try to channel old Derek, Derek from before who knew how to have conversations with people without scaring them or pissing them off. 

 

He was going to do  _ great _ work on the Jeep. No matter how battered, he'd already decided. It was going to be flawless when he was done with it. Like fucking magic. No one was  _ ever _ going to say that he'd mistreated the younger man because he was human ever again. And he was going to apologize. That seemed like a good start. He was going to muster up a sincere apology, and they would move forward on even footing. This was important to Laura, and he wouldn’t let her down. 

He was confident when the truck pulled into the garage. He was going to shake the man's hand. Hell, maybe he'd even smile. He almost did just thinking about it. He was going to charm the  _ shit _ out of Stiles Stilinski.

He should've known better, honestly.

Boyd hopped down from the cab of the truck first, coming around to greet him briefly, moving to unhook the Jeep from the tow truck. Another man crawled out of the front, stumbling a little, feet not keeping their balance on the metal step between the floor of the truck and the ground. Recovering gracefully, he stood a few feet from the truck, but still far enough away from Derek that couldn't shake his hand. For some reason, the older man was wary of closing the gap between them.

The man chuckled awkwardly, running a hand over the back of his neck. "Hey. I'm Stiles." He called out, and this wasn’t what he’d expected. The deputy sheriff he'd spoken to last night had been firm and authoritative. This was just some clumsy kid. He nodded anyway, throwing out, "Derek Hale."

"Ahh," a smile lit up the younger man's face, and he began to close this distance, "The great and powerful. Right hand and kid brother of the lovely Alpha." Nodding, he continued, "Yeah. You live up to it."

Before he could decipher what  _ that _ meant, Boyd was helping a pretty blonde out of the Jeep. And something about her scent, or maybe something from the car? It smelled like his mom all the sudden, and he had no idea what to do with it.

"What's that smell?" He asked, sidestepping Stilinski to get closer to it. All of them looked at him curiously, but it was Erica who piped up first. "Oh! It must be the cookies! We should get those out before the truck goes up, yeah?" She leaned back in, and Derek bit back a smirk at the way Boyd's eyes lingered on her rear end before she pulled back out with a huge plate of cookies. The beta brought his eyes back up a second too late when she'd turned, but she just smiled at him, fondly. "Eyes on, blockhead," she snarked, before handing the platter to Stiles.

"Oatmeal raisin?" Derek asked, cautiously. Stiles nodded with just as much trepidation. "They're wrapped. I shouldn't be able to smell them..." Erica shifted nervously. "I may have snuck a second one," she admitted as she pulled a cookie from the pocket of her coat.

The smell of it rocked Derek down to his very foundations. He remembered sunlight spilling into the kitchen as he scrambled in, tear streaks down his face. Blubbering to his mother about how Dad and Uncle Peter had been making him train, because he was going to be the man of the house one day. How they'd broken his arm and it  _ hurt _ , but then they'd waited for him to heal and made him run the drill again.

His mother had soothed him, set a gigantic plate of cookies in front of him, and gone outside to deal with her unruly betas. He'd eaten cookies until he was sick. Laura had teased him, but Dad and Uncle Peter hadn't said a word. He couldn't have been older than thirteen.

"Erica," Stiles lamented, snapping Derek back to the present, "I want to be more disappointed. Like, I'm shocked at how entirely unshocked I am. Cough it up."

Head dropped in shame, she shuffled over, and passed the cookie to him. Derek tracked its every movement. He just managed to choke back a miserable whine when Stilinski ate it, right in front of his face. While holding an entire platter.

Derek couldn't understand why a cookie disappearing into some gangly, awkward (fucking beautiful)  _ kid's _ mouth felt so much like loss. The scent of the cookies, the scent of his mother settled over Stiles, blending perfectly with the boy's own tangerine and salt water scent. Something felt like it was falling into place in Derek's chest. It smelled so right, like it belonged there, and he was immediately terrified.

His brain told him to run, but his wolf whined, wanting to stay. He knew that if he took a step closer, he could breathe that smell off the young second's neck. The wolf found himself wondering if the young man would bare his throat willingly, or if he'd have to wind fingers through chestnut hair and  _ tug _ to get to the deliciously pale column of flesh. Derek's gums itched, his mouth feeling hot and heavy at the thought. His body was straining, muscles clenching in aborted arches, trying to get closer, to his, to his.... _ mate _ , his wolf whined, forlorn.

Derek's eyes widened and he took a full step back. His wolf paced, more restless than it had ever been. Stiles sucked his (incredibly long, graceful) thumb into his mouth and shrugged, "Eh, not bad," the pang of completely inappropriate lust made him want to hit something. Anything. Anything to make this stop.

"I was going to bring them to the meet," Stiles continued, amicable and oblivious, "as sort of a peace offering. Whattaya think?"

Derek growled, "I think I'd prefer them as a parting gift when you get your asses out of our territory." 

 

Erica growled in response, but when Boyd shot a hand out in front of her to keep her from pouncing, she quieted. Stiles turned to soothe her, narrowed his eyes at the scene he found there, then came back around to Derek. 

 

"I hate to break it to you, buttercup, but this hasn't been your territory in sixteen years. We're not going anywhere."

"I just mean--” Derek couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation. He scrubbed a hand over his face. “These are our woods. Always have been, always will be."

"And you're welcome to 'em, but this is our TOWN! None of us have been gone for more than six months since the first of us was turned. Where were you when a rogue Alpha attacked the high school? Where were you when a damn werelizard started killing people all over town? Do you even know what the fuck a lamia IS? We were KIDS when this shit started. We didn't know what the fuck we were doing. We didn't know anything. But WE made it work. WE made this town safe. WE did that. By OURSELVES. So if you want to stake claim on Beacon Hills, Mr. Hale, you're going to have to go through us. And I promise you, we wouldn't still  **be** here if we were easy to get through."

He spun, stomping toward the door, before he stopped and addressed Derek again, "And don't touch my fucking car. I'll have it towed somewhere more reasonable."

"I'll fix it," Derek grunted. This is a disaster. Laura was going to kill him. Hell, at this point, Stiles Stilinski was going to kill him.

"You won't place a single clawed hand on it, or I'll make you wish you'd never been born," Stiles snapped, eyes blazing. Something in the room crackled, and the hairs on the back of Derek's neck stood up. There was a wildness seeping into the younger man's scent, like the smell right before rain. He fought the urge to shake his head to clear it.

"Laura will insist." Derek bargained, his wolf whining.

"Yeah? Well she's gonna fucking have to. Don't. Touch it."

And he was out of the door, blonde beta scrambling after him.

When he couldn't smell them anymore, he blew out a shaky breath. "Kill me now."

"I’d love to," Boyd replied, drily, "But I'm pretty sure Laura's gonna want first dibs. What the hell  _ was _ that, Der?"

Fucking fuck  _ fuck _ , he was screwed. He locked himself up in his office for the rest of the afternoon, dreading moonrise like he never had before.

**Lydia**

Lydia hummed and smiled in the shower.

For as long as she could remember, she’d had the dreams, and the whispers. The night before she started second grade, she had a dream of earnest, cognac colored eyes. And a voice had whispered,  _ follow, follow, follow. _

 

So when she’d met Stiles the next day, and he’d asked if she wanted to have lunch with him, she did.

 

The summer before junior year, she had a recurring dream of Scott McCall with blood red eyes, his hair cut shorter than it had been the year before, and a strange circular tattoo around his arm. The whispers said  _ Alpha _ , and she didn’t know what that meant until  _ years _ later, but she kept him alive in the meantime, so she figured that counted for something.

 

The first time she had vision, she was sixteen and had just met Allison Argent for the first time. She touched the other girl's hand and saw a bouncing baby girl, dark eyes and dark hair, the Whispers said Tori.

 

It was the first of many visions that Lydia wouldn’t understand.

 

In college, the dreams of the woman started. There were no whispers to go along with dreams. No sound at all, actually. Just scenes. The wind rustling through her hair.  The shape of her breast in Lydia’s hand, her head tilted back in pleasure. Her eyes fading from red, to hazel; from alive to lifeless.

 

And, it was crazy, because Lydia had never even met this woman. She’d remember. But she had the dreams, every night.

 

Soon, they were accompanied by other dreams. Erica’s bloodied temple, and a fallen tree. A fireplace crackling in front of her. A rosebush growing unbidden before her eyes. A stunning green gown. A white fox, crackling with blue static flame, wings on fire in the sky, Erica laughing in a yellow dress, an old man tied to a chair, shot through the head. A bouncing baby girl.

 

They played in her head like a movie every night. The woman, the snippets of her future life. Always ending with the baby. With Tori. 

 

So when Stiles let it slip that Allison was pregnant, she’d just smiled ,knowing that something important was happening in their lives.

 

They'd all been through so much. There hadn't been any help for them when werewolves became real and present thing in their lives. Everything they learned, they'd learned through meticulous research, trial and error (emphasis on the error), and happy accidents they shouldn't have survived but had anyway.

Like when Scott had that accident with the mistletoe their second Christmas together, spent three days in the hospital and scared the shit out of everyone. It was the first time they realized that werewolves weren't impervious to everything. The doctor classified it as an allergic reaction, weird that it had presented so late, and sent him home. The pack knew otherwise. Werewolves didn't have allergies. Jackson had been allergic to cranberries since he was six, and he'd eaten three helpings of cranberry sauce at Thanksgiving. It'd taken away Scott's asthma. It'd cured Erica's epilepsy. This was no allergy.

So she and Stiles had hit the books, scouring every source available. They'd discovered that mistletoe was a derivative of wolfsbane (Stiles had been distraught. "In two years, we never thought to research  _ wolfsbane _ ?! We oughtta be shot."), and a whole new research spiral began.

When all signs pointed to wolfsbane living up to its name, Stiles reluctantly agreed that they couldn't be sure without a trial. Erica volunteered, said she was the one most familiar with the mindset of dying. There were tearful "just in case this doesn't work" speeches behind closed doors. Lydia maintains that Erica kissed Stiles, though neither of them would ever admit it. She thanked Scott for turning her until she was almost blue in the face. Lydia injected a single cc of wolfsbane into her blood, and they waited.

They would realize how immediate the effect was much later, it took five minutes for her to show any outward signs. She had a seizure, which was psychosomatic, but it was also an unexpected complication. They couldn't do what was necessary to reverse her poisoning until she was still, and they weren't sure that it wouldn't kill her in the time it took the seizure to pass.

Jackson and Scott had rolled her to her side, and Scott stroked her hair, whispered reassurances into her ear. He was every inch the Alpha in that moment. Consciously, Lydia knew then that he was only doing what Stiles told him, probably saying what Stiles told him to say, but he did it with such confidence that they all trusted it would work.

And it did. Erica calmed, then promptly puked up what she told them was blood, but looked like disgusting black goop. "Fix it," she wheezed, "It'll kill me. It's killing me. Fix it." Lydia moved in, placed a small leaf of the wolfsbane she used at the injection site (which had never healed), and set fire to it. Erica was better in minutes.

"Holy shit!" She stuttered with her first clean breath.

Lydia remembered the night with a smile. Everything they knew, they'd figured out together. Scott's super sniffer said Hale pack couldn't be more than four. While that was one wolf more, Allison was deadly with a crossbow. And now all of her arrows were wolfsbane laced. And Stiles...they all acknowledged that Stiles was something they couldn't quite explain. But he never really had been, so things just kept pushing on as normal.

Smiling, she turned off the shower and stepped out. She wrapped a towel around her body and rubbed another one over her hair absently, still trying to understand this feeling of  _ significance _ singing through her blood. Something was  _ happening _ , she could feel it.  

Still toweling her hair, she stepped out of the bathroom and into the bedroom to find Jackson sitting on her bed. "Hey, you." She greeted him with a smile, turning to rifle through her chest of drawers for something to wear. 

 

"I'm going to leave soon," he mumbled. 

 

"Oh. You don't have to, you know," she called over her shoulder, "I'm not doing much today. Just last minute research for the meet, but I feel confident, so I could skip it." She dropped the towel, slipped into her underwear, fastened her bra with professional grace.

"To London," he said. "I'm going to London."

"For work?" She glanced back at him, he nodded, "That sounds like a great opportunity, sweetie," Lydia continued, shimmying into a pair of black yoga pants, "but it's a terrible time for a trip. Is there any way you could postpone--"

"I'm moving to London, Lydia."

She'd just gotten a burgundy camisole over her head. She smoothed it down as she turned to look at him. "What?"

"The Telegraph called me. They liked that article I written up in the Post earlier this year. They offered me a job."

"That's...amazing," Lydia said, lamely, even though it was. Truly. Jackson had been working as a reporter for the last six years, and in the last two, his career had really been taking off. He'd had articles in the San Francisco Chronicle, The LA Times, the Washington Post. It wasn't surprising that he was getting notice.

"Thank you," he murmured, rubbing a hand against the back of his neck. "The timing..." He hesitated.

"I mean, I'm mostly worried about the pack." Crossing the room, she pulled a pale gray cardigan out of her closet, sliding it over her arms and busying herself with the buttons. "This Hale pack thing. It's gonna be harder for them to do without us."

"Us." He repeated, dumbly.

Lydia dipped back into the bathroom, taking a brush to her still damp hair. "Yeah, I mean, once the semester is over, I could pack up. I love Europe. And outside of the pack it's not like I have any family here, so--"

"I'm not asking you to move to London with me."

The weight of what he was saying finally settled in her stomach. She walked back out of the bathroom, taking him in. "So you're breaking up with me, leaving the pack in the middle of a territory dispute, and moving to London?"

"We don't know that it's a territory dispute. We don't know what they want. It could all turn out fine."

"Yeah, but you won't be around to see it either way, will you?" She spat. "How long have you known about this?"

"I accepted the position last week." And at least, she thought, he had the decency to look guilty now. 

 

She pounced. "A week! A WEEK! So you've been planning on breaking up with me and abandoning your pack for a week. And you're just now telling me. No. Who else knows?"

Jackson couldn't meet her eyes. "I told Scott the day I got the call. I told Abby Saturday, at the party."

"Scott and Abby." This whole situation was bordering on unbelievable, "You told Scott McCall and the eight year old, before me."

"I didn't know what to do! Abby’s just getting settled and used to everything! I wanted to give her a heads up! I didn’t just want to ambush her. And he's not just 'Scott McCall' anymore! He's my Alpha! It's not like I could lie to him!"

"But lying to me is fine, because I'm human and easily deceived? It’s totally fine to ambush  _ me,  _ isn’t it, Jackson?" Her pretty eyebrows arched in derision.

"That's not what I meant!" The young man rose from the bed to throw up his arms, before dropping them and plopping back down again, "I just needed to do it the right way."

"And this is what you came up with. This is what doing it 'the right way' looks like? Fantastic."

"No, it's not. This is shitty. I realize that, Lydia, I'm not an idiot. I just ran out of t..." He trailed off.

"TIME?! You ran out of TIME?!" She was shrieking, now. It was unattractive, but she couldn't stop. "When do you leave?"

"Tomorrow morning."

Lydia hadn't even realized she'd moved until she was hitting him in the face. Pain vibrated up her arm but she didn't stop. "You stupid, fucking heartless piece of shit! You just...you were just, we've been together damn near ten years, Jackson! That's nothing to you?"

He rose, overpowering her easily, pinning her arms backs and twisting their bodies until he was standing behind her. "Stop. St- Lydia, sweetheart, you have to stop. You're just hurting yourself." He murmured, and she realized that he was taking her pain. Flush up against her back, he instinctively dipped down to nose at the fading bruise on her neck. The bruise that marked her as his.

"No! You don't get to do that! You don't to get your scent all over me and then fly off into the sunset. You fucking animal!" She hit him again, knocking his hands away. The pain resumed and her face twisted into a smile "Talk. Use your words. Explain to me how ten years ends with 'I'm moving to London, Lydia.' Help me."

"It hasn't been the same in years, Lyds. And you know that. We don't want the same things anymore. Or maybe we never did. I want power, Lydia. I always have. I want to be the best. And nobody in Beacon Hills is the best at anything. I'm not even the best werewolf in the bunch here. Scott is. Scott fucking McCall. The kid I might as well have stuffed in lockers in high school. The only thing that burns worse than the fact that he's my Alpha is that he's better at it than I could ever be."

"Moving to London isn't going to make you a better werewolf."

"No. But it'll make me a better reporter."

"Wolves are pack animals, Jacks, honey, it's gonna mess you up to be by yourself like that."

"I'll find another pack."

There was a heavy silence between them.

"I never expected you to be a pack animal. Especially a pack where you weren't Alpha," he smirked now, and she chortled without thinking. 

 

"Like he makes any decisions without me."

Just like that, the hostility was drained out of their discourse. They were Jackson and Lydia. They'd known each other since they were ten. They'd been in love since they were sixteen. And now they were ending, and it was the right thing to do, she realized with a shock. The knee jerk hurt was gone now, and she could see it. This was the right thing to do.

"So this is happening," she breathed. He nodded, hands shoved into his pockets as he rocked back on his heels.

"I was going to change my flight, but Scott asked me not to come to the meet tomorrow."

Lydia winced, "The pack will look smaller. Weak," she murmured. Now it was Jackson's turn to snort.

"No group, supernatural or otherwise, has ever been weak with you in it. If Hale's dumb enough to think that, I'm sure you'll be smart enough to use it to your advantage." Lydia smiled at that.

“You aren’t in any of them,” she murmured, smile fading from her face.

Jackson looked confused.

“The dreams,” she clarified, almost feeling the woman’s breast in her palm, “you aren’t in any of them.”

He looked hurt, crushed even. But he nodded. “Then I guess this is how it’s supposed to be.”

She walked him to the door. There was a hug, one final kiss, and then he was gone. After, she sat down on the couch in her living room, turned the TV on, but didn't look at it, trying to figure out how the feeling of happiness that'd been bouncing around in her chest the past few weeks had seemed to get  _ bigger _ . Like now a weight had fallen away, and now there was room for more.

And that's where Stiles and Erica found her when they stormed her apartment and hour later. Stiles was too furious about whatever he was furious about to notice her mental state much.

"Derek Hale is too beautiful to live!" He exclaimed, plopping down on the couch beside her and placing a huge tray of cookies on her coffee table. "I hope they want a fight. God I hope they do. I want to shoot him in the face. I know it'll put itself back together. But I want to take pictures of it while it’s a broken, bloody fucking mess." He tore into a cookie with unnecessary force. Half a second later, he buried his face in his hands. "No, oh God that would be awful," he moaned out from behind them. "The only thing more offensive than the fact that a face like that can even  _ exist _ is the fact that it's impervious to all fucking harm. At least have the decency to scar!"

"Light eyes?" Lydia found herself asking. She sounded despondent to her own ears. Erica tilted her head, but Stiles was too caught up in his complaining. "Yes. Like... no! I'm not going to wax poetic about his eyes. Yes. They're light. Factual information only." He nodded once, sharply.

"Stubble?"

"Yes."

"Muscles?"

"He's a werewolf, Lydia. Yes."

"Leather jacket?"

"He was wearing a tank top. He's a mechanic or something. But I think I saw...No!" The dawning of realization hit him. "No! Derek Hale is NOT the guy."

She nodded, "I can't clarify till I see him, but he sounds like it."

"There's no hope left in the world! And it was my best flirting, too. I batted my fucking eyelashes and told jokes and sucked my finger. I sucked my finger!"

Erica spoke for the first time, "It was really grade A flirting. No spazzing, or stuttering or flailing. It's almost like it wasn't Stiles. And it was working!" She turned on him, "I could totally smell it on him. I don't know what happened!"

"He's an asshole, that’s what happened."

"Jackson's leaving."

Stiles turned to her, mouth opening and closing like a dying fish. It was Erica who spoke first. She pulled the plastic off the platter and pointed, "Eat a cookie and start talking."

She grabbed one dutifully, took a bite, hummed in contentment.

"He got a job at The Daily Telegraph." She said when she'd swallowed. "He leaves in the morning."

Stiles' fury immediately carried over for her. "Fucking werewolves! So he's just leaving? What about you? What about  that ?" He pointed to the never talked about mark at her shoulder. "What about wolves mating for life? That's bullshit now?"

"Jackson and I weren't mated. We never felt...ready. I should've known, I guess," the realization dawned on her as the words left her mouth. She nodded, "I should've known. It hasn't been the same with us in a while. We're different people now. We want different things. I guess neither one of us knew how to admit that after so long."

"So he's leaving. The Telegraph is a great opportunity for him. And I'm staying here. And it's fine."

"Like hell," Stiles spat.

"I'm  _ fine _ ," she looked to Erica for support. 

 

"She's not lying." The blonde murmured.

"I was upset. It was a shock, you know? Sudden." She shrugged, "But he didn't mean it to be malicious. We've been in each other’s lives for so long. He didn't know how to tell me. It's the right thing."

Regardless of her "fineness," Stiles made her eat cookies while they watched The Notebook (which he complained through). All in all, Lydia could think of worse ways to spend an afternoon.

**Scott**

They met at Lydia's. The pack as a whole was told about Jackson. Scott swelled with pride when he realized neither Lydia nor Danny planned on leaving.

(“Right,” Danny had snorted, “I’m just supposed to pack up my werewolf daughter and…what? Run off to Europe with Whittemore? I’ll pass. Our place is here.”)

There was no real game plan. Allison had her crossbow, wolfsbane laced arrows. Lydia had knives, also laced, and it was scary how good she was with them, how close she managed to get. Stiles had his standard issue, and they knew it wouldn't do much good, but strange things tended to happen when Stiles was upset or in danger. No one was worried about him.

As they trekked quietly into woods, Scott wondered if anything at all good could come from this. So far, other than Derek's general rudeness toward Stiles, and Erica's misunderstanding earlier the day before, Hale Pack hadn't been hostile. He couldn't figure out, though, what they could possibly want besides Allison. The thought of any harm coming to her made him irate.

Sensing his mood, she squeezed his hand. "Everything's gonna be fine. I can feel it." He could hear the lie, smell the terror rolling off of her, but she smiled up at him anyway. He dipped down to kiss her forehead. "I love you."

The house, and the pack it was named for, came into view soon after. There were four of them. Derek (it had gone around earlier that he was "the guy." Allison had squealed.) was leaned up against the jamb of the front door. There was a lanky, golden haired young man sitting with his back up against the house on Derek's right. His face was lit up with the glow of a cell phone. A bigger, stocky dark skinned man sat casually on the front steps. Laura, their Alpha, stood in the clearing immediately in front of him. The half moon shone down, her own personal spotlight in the coming darkness.

 

Lydia’s breath caught. Scott frowned, turning to see what was wrong, but at the same time a breeze that smelled sharply of ozone and tangerine lifted her hair into a gentle swirl around her, and Scott bit back a smirk.

"There. Now they look like something out of a comic book.” It was whispered, but they all knew the other pack could hear him. And they did. The blonde lowered his phone, grinning, while Derek's eyebrow arched. The bigger one's shoulders (Stiles had been talking too fast to mention a name, and Erica had been uncannily quiet) shook with a chuckle, and Laura laughed, pure and full bodied.

"Stiles, if nothing else comes of this, I'm glad I got the chance to meet you."

With the ice broken, Scott gestured the rest of his pack into the clearing. Two wolves and four humans stood in the face of Laura Hale and her wolves. She kept smiling, "I heard something about cookies from Boyd?"

Stiles snorted. "Derek made it clear that I could find better uses for them."

"They were good, though!" Erica called out.

"Best batch in a while," Lydia added, nodding.

Laura huffed, pouting slightly, "I'm sorry for him. Honestly, it's my fault. I didn't prepare him properly for the homecoming. He's a little overwhelmed. He's not taking it well." Derek opened his mouth to speak, but the growl of his Alpha stopped him. Her face turned pleasant again as she turned back to Stiles, "I do really insist you leave the Jeep with us, though. Boyd and Isaac will fix it, if you don't want Derek to touch it. He is the best, though. He does well in jobs where he doesn't have to talk to people."

"I can imagine," Stiles responded, but he made no commitment. Not to be deterred, the Alpha continued.

"Introductions, then! I'm Laura. The broody one by the door," she hooks a thumb over her shoulder, "is my little brother, Derek. The gentleman on the stairs is Boyd, and our resident blonde is Isaac." With the exception of Derek, who rolled his eyes, they all gave little waves as their names were called.

"Scott McCall," he said, shocked at how confident his voice sounded. "My wife, Allison," no last name offered, "you know Stiles. Danny Mahealani. Lydia Martin. Erica Reyes."

"Your grandmother was my third grade teacher. Derek's too," she told Danny. 

 

He nodded, "She's still there."

"That's great," she breathed, "That's what I want. That's why I'm here." She was looking at Scott again, now. "You, as an Alpha, understand wanting your pack settled. Happy. Wanting roots. Mates.  _ Children _ ."

Scott fought a sigh. That cat was out of the bag, then.

Laura paused for a moment. “Where’s the other one?” She asked, looking around.

Lydia spoke up. “He’s gone. He uh,” and it hurt Scott, to hear Lydia falter. She wasn’t the type. “he’s moving to London.”

“London,” Laura hummed thoughtfully. “Very nice.”

After a beat, she continued.

"I guess I'm getting older. Biological clock, you know?” Laura continued, “I want to nurture. I know things. I want to pass them on. Your humans...two of them smell like magic. And I don't mean that metaphorically.  Actual  magic. Do you even know what that means? Do you even know how to foster that potential? The possibilities here are incredible. And the Argent."

Allison stiffened and Scott growled. Laura's eyes widened. "You thought I didn't know? Oh. Well, that explains the tension, at least.” She turned to face Allison, eyes open and soft, “You were a child when your family did this,” she motioned to the burnt out shell of a house behind her. “And look where your allegiances have ended up! No, we mean you no harm. None of you. Your aunt though, that's another story. Your father as well if he tries to keep her from us. And we think he will."

Allison lifted her chin, "This is my family now." And Scott's chest swelled with pride.

Laura nodded.

"What weapon did they teach you?"

"Crossbow."

"You never miss you mark, do you?"

Allison shook her head.

"My mother could trace her lineage all the way back to the Vikings. The blood of Fenrir. I'm certain yours goes back just as far. As long as there've been werewolves, there've been Argents. Your family is literally the reason people think silver kills us." Laura smiled as Allison gaped. She turned back to Scott.

"I want to come home, Alpha McCall. But I realize that it's not entirely mine anymore. So what I'm offering is a pack merger. Four new wolves to protect your borders, access to all of my knowledge and resources. I'll submit to you, as Alpha, if that's what it takes."

Derek leapt off the porch, snarling. Laura spun, her eyes glaring red, claws extended, and roared at him. Isaac, Boyd, and even Erica whined pitifully. Scott flinched for them, knowing it couldn’t be fun, but was unaffected himself. Derek bared his throat, slinking back to sit next to Boyd on the stairs.

"Sorry about that." She called out, mostly to Erica. "As I was saying, I am willing to submit if that's what it takes. I think, though, that you'd be more comfortable deferring to me. I am the more traditionally experienced Alpha here. And there are...other factors to consider. But it's up to you."

"Pretty generous offer," Stiles threw out, nonchalant.

"Sweet. Sentimental, even," Lydia tacked on. Their tones were conversational, but Scott understood. They didn't like it.

"What's in it for you?" Scott asked, holding up a hand when she opened her mouth, "And spare me, with the 'I just want to come home,' spiel. You're upsetting Stiles and Lydia. That doesn't tend to work out well for anyone. I may not know much about fostering potential, but we muddle through."

It started to rain, clouds forming rapidly, as if after the fact. 

"Damn straight," Stiles nodded, and Scott grinned. It'd taken Stiles three years to master that trick, and they'd been itching for the chance to use it. The Hale Pack betas looked up at the sky, awed and nervous. Laura was still smiling, mindless of the fact that she was being steadily soaked. 

"This isn’t about us. Honestly? This is about you. I made my intentions to Chris Argent very clear. And, knowing Argents like I do, there’s a pretty good chance he comes back here with a small army and murders anything that goes bump in the night. No offense, Mrs. McCall,” she tosses at Allison, then she sighs, briefly scrubbing a hand over her face. “I didn’t know you were here when I made that decision. I put you in danger, and I’m sorry for that. This is me trying to rectify the situation. We don’t have time to be squabbling like children,” she turned over her shoulder to look dead at Derek during this last. “We need to ally ourselves. You’re vulnerable. You’re only two wolves, and two humans who are mildly adept at magic, but I don’t even know what the redhead’s does. And Stiles’ trick is nice, but it’s not going to kill anybody. And then there’s…” She stopped, looking from Allison to Scott carefully, “Your wife. Who’s deadly in her own right, sure, but is she going to kill her own father? Aunt? Grandfather? I think not. And she shouldn’t have to. I’m certain Mr. Mahealani here is good for any number of things, but unless one of them is the electrical torture of werewolves, you’re at a disadvantage. We’re stronger together. Safer together.”

Scott swallowed. “We’re going to have to fight the Argents?”

 

The rain slowed down to a trickle, then was gone. 

Laura nodded, looking slightly embarrassed, “Yes.”

“What else?” Lydia spat out after a moment, crossing her arms and shifting in the muddy earth. 

 

Scott turned to her, a little shocked, only to find that Stiles had done the same. “Lyds, maybe we should-”

“No.” Lydia said. “She’s not giving us everything. There’s more. I  _ know _ there’s more. Now,” she waved a regal hand at Laura, who’d raised her eyebrow in amusement, “Put it on the table. You’ve poured your war into our laps, and you expect us to trust you? Want our Alpha to  _ submit _ to you? You don’t get to play anything close to the vest right now. Spit it out, Hale.”

Derek looked like he was choking on his tongue, Isaac’s mouth had dropped open, and Boyd just watched, eyes flittering back between Laura and Lydia, amazed. 

 

“Is it often you talk to Alphas that way?” Laura said, quietly. 

 

Scott felt his hackles raise. He growled sub vocally, and found himself shifting closer to Lydia, to protect if need be. Erica mirrored his movement on her other side.

 

”I’m not going to hurt her,” Laura said, at the same time as Lydia’s mouth quirking up at one end, “She’s not going to hurt me.” 

 

They stared at each other for a moment, and then Lydia smiled, and Laura sighed, shoulders dropping, stray rain drops dripping off the shoulders of her leather jacket.

“You got all the  _ best _ humans. You realize that, don’t you McCall?” She said, looking at him again. “My mother always said that a pack without humans is doomed to failure. We had four in the original. My uncle Peter's wife, Charlotte, her daughter, Lauren, and my youngest brother, Trevor. The most important, though, was my uncle's best friend. The connection those two shared was...integral to the way our pack survived. She was an amazing woman. Uncle Peter always knew that her son would follow in her footsteps. That we would have a second generation pack human one day. He believed that her child was as integral to the pack’s survival as his mother was. I came for that. "

Thunder rolled, sounding heavy and close. Scott knew this time it was unintentional. It seemed enough to prompt the Alpha into speaking.

“I’m here for Stiles.”


	5. Interlude: The Marriage Bed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI!
> 
> Sorry this is late, real world stuff took over this weekend. I have a small readership on this but you guys are important to me so I like to be on time
> 
> Also, it's my birthday!

**September 1946**

 

The room was awash in candlelight, and Jean Paul stood in front of Valencia looking every bit as nervous as she did. His lack of confidence wasn’t making her feel any better. Their marriage bed was behind her, fluffy and white as a dream.

She fidgeted. Jean Paul cleared his throat.

“Have you…” he started, slowly, “have you done this before?”

“No! Never!” She exclaimed, at the same time as he said, “I wouldn’t be upset, if you—oh, well, alright then.”

She looked at him through her lashes, makeup making them clumpy and thick, “Would you rather I had?”

“Yes,” he breathed, then winced as her eyes widened. “No! No, not…I just mean that you would be less nervous, if you had before. And I would be less nervous, less worried about hurting you. You would already know what you like. I just…I worry.” Her new husband stammered, and Valencia snorted.

“About what? It’s not like I can leave you.”

Hurt flashed across Jean Paul’s face before he spoke again. “You can be unhappy with me. I don’t want that. We didn’t have time to fall in love before we married, but I like to think we might? One day? I don’t want you to feel trapped here. Though, it seems you already do.”

Valencia sighed, fiddling with her hands and looking idly around the room. “I’m sorry,” she said, avoiding eye contact. “I am. Nervous, I mean. I’m nervous. And I don’t…I get snappy sometimes, when I don’t know what to do. I’m sorry. I want to be happy here. I do. It’s just…”

He shook his head, taking a step toward her and capturing her twitching hands in his. “Your father died two months ago. You’ve left your home, your family. Your best friend plans to travel across an ocean. It’s perfectly normal to feel overwhelmed. And this,” he gestured at the bed, but she didn’t turn to look at it, “this isn’t helping, I’m sure.” At this, Val nodded dumbly. He swept a soothing thumb across her palm.

“If you want, we can wait. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, tonight. We can just...wait. Or,” he took another step, and now he was closer to her than he’d ever been before. He dropped her hands and moved to touch her hips. Her eyes flew to his, shocked by the new closeness. Something warm began to pump through her veins when she saw how dark they’d gotten, how ragged his breath seemed. “If I had my way, I’d make it so that you didn’t hurt at all. I’d make it so that you wanted it again, and again...” He told her, quietly, dipping down to whisper into her ear. She shivered, and brought her hands up to his arms for support.

Can we?” She asked, astounded by how breathy her voice had gotten. “Can we make it that good?”

“ _ Yes _ ,” he murmured, sliding a hand up her side to cup her neck, “it doesn’t have to hurt, bichette, and one day, I will show you that a little pain isn’t always bad either.” He smirked at her, and then his mouth was on hers, a slow, sweet press of lips that was so gentle, Valencia couldn’t help but sigh and lean into it. His tongue, light and teasing, swept across her bottom lip and she gasped. Seizing the opportunity, he licked into her mouth, tasting the small sound of surprise she made.

The hand on her hip wrapped around her lower back and pulled her closer. Her hands slid up his arms to twine around his neck. Tentatively, she lifted her tongue to touch his. He groaned at the sensation, thrusting the hand on her neck into her hair, still pinned up from the earlier ceremony.

 

The fabric from her wedding dress gathered heavily around her middle as the young woman’s body began to heat. She hummed against Jean Paul’s mouth and he pulled away from her by an inch or two. “Yes, little one?” he said, voice hoarse with desire. “My dress,” she stammered, “I’d like to take it off?”

His eyes widened and he went to remove his hand from her hair, but when he tugged, she winced and cried out in pain. “Wait! Stop, stop! I think you’re stuck.” She said, as his body stilled. “I’m sorry, bichette, I’m so—“

“Shhh,” she soothed. “Take your hand out slowly.” He did, and it came free with little effort. He still looked panicked, so she smiled at him. “It’s fine,” she grinned, “there are about sixty pins in it, though. Maybe I should take them out before anything else.” He nodded enthusiastically and her grin spread. “Will you help me?”  Another slow nod.

The room had already been prepared for her. There was a beautiful ornate vanity set up in the corner, with a white brocade backed chair. She dropped into it and saw herself for the first time as a married woman.  She looked older, but she told herself it was just the makeup caked onto her face and the style of her hair taking effect. Jean Paul walked up behind her. They made quite a picture, bathed in firelight. She sighed, “I look older,” as she pulled the first pin from her hair.

Warm hands fell on her shoulders, as her husband pressed dry lips against her neck. His eyes met hers in the mirror. “You are older, bichette. Hopefully a little wiser too.”

Straightening, he watched as she deftly worked pins from her hair. “You’re meant to be helping, you know.” She smiled wryly.

“I’m a little afraid now,” he admitted. He lowered his eyes from hers and a flush began to rise on his cheeks.  

This had her laughing, tipping her head back. “Here, watch me.” She said, and she wove deft fingers into her hair, pulling a little to expose to hard line of the hairpin, and then pulling it smoothly out, laying it with the others on the vanity table.  

“It doesn’t…hurt?” He asked, a hand reaching up to tangle into her hair again. She smiled and shook her head minutely. So he searched, lightly, for the next pin, and pulled it out with so much care, laying it like a fragile thing on the table next to its kin.

They worked together, quietly, until all the pins had been pulled from her hair. It fell around her, a wild, ebony cloud, and she looked familiar to herself in the mirror again. More like Val, rather than Mrs. Jean Paul Baptiste. She met her husband’s eyes in the mirror. His hands were still in her hair, as if weighing it, and the look on his face was one of awe.

“You’re lovely.” He breathed, and then chuckled at her blush. “You should get used to me telling you. You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” He reached through the curtain of her hair, to the line of buttons on her back. “Do you still want…?” he let the question hang in the air, and huffed out a sigh of relief when she nodded. His fingers worked at the buttons one at a time, slowly.

It was strange to watch this made up, married, older version of herself be undressed in front of the mirror. Jean’s hands were warm and soft against her skin, sliding her lace capped sleeves off of her shoulders. He left soft kisses in his wake. Not enough to set her blood to burning, just enough that she felt safe, cherished, protected.  

Sitting as she was, Jean Paul was forced to stop unbuttoning halfway down her back, so he tugged her to rising. Turning her, he continued unfastening her buttons the other hand snugly fitted around her waist. Before she knew it, she was standing in just her trousseau, being turned to face him.

“You’re lovely,” he breathed, “so lovely.” He pressed his lips to hers and pulled her down to the bed.

Five weeks later, they found out she was pregnant.

**October 1946**

In the sixth week of her pregnancy, Danielle called her for the first time since the party. The party that she, conveniently, didn’t remember much of,  _ “I’m so sorry, I was an awful hostess. And then I got so sick! I have no idea what was in that drink! It was delicious though!”  _ She giggled, and Valencia could see her cousin clearly in her mind’s eye. She was recently married as well. The image of her flitting around her new home in the city, arranging flowers and ordering around servants made Val smile. She sounded happy. “You looked like you were enjoying yourself at the time.”

 

_ “Oh I’m sure I was. Until Flora. Which I blame you for, just so you know.” _

“Blame Ina. She backed out at the last minute. I didn’t have a choice.” Val was reclining in her new favorite chair by the window. Pregnancy had made her tired, and there was a low level pain in her back.

“ _ Well, I can’t very well blame Ina from halfway across the world, now can I?” _

The younger woman shrugged as though her cousin could see her. “I don’t see why not. I do.”

“ _ Oh, Val.”  _ Dani’s sigh sounded tinny and harsh over the line. _ “Did you not have a good time? I know it wasn’t really your kind of thing. But I’d hoped…there were some people there I thought you’d like.” _

“Like who?”

_ “Well, Emory was supposed to keep you company.” _

“He did. Tried to get me as drunk as you.” Val almost chuckled at the memory.

_ “The scoundrel! You had fun, though?” _

“Yes, actually, I did. How is he, anyway?”

_ “Emory? I haven’t seen him, actually. He ran off a little after the party, with some stupid shop girl.” _

“Oh? He seemed pretty taken with you.”

_ “It’s…he’s….we’re different people. We both knew we’d have to face it at some point.” _

And now, Dani sounded sad. “I’m sorry?”

_ “It’s fine. Apparently he’s happy now. Remaarah Keller is keeping his bed warm.” _

Valencia’s blood ran cold.  _ I curse you, and all those that come from your blood. You will suffer. _

Remaarah’s curse rattled around in her head. She’d believed it, for a long time, with her father dying so soon after the encounter, and then being separated from Ina.

But, she thought, as she looked around the sunroom she’d taken residence in, her marriage was beautiful, her pregnancy was beautiful. Her life, all in all, wasn’t that bad. The biggest problem she faced at the moment was a mildly uncomfortable twinge in her back. Sighing, she shook off the feeling of dread that had crept up on her.

When Jean Paul returned from touring his shops later that evening and heard about her back pain, he immediately demanded she have a bath run. He sat in the washroom with her, helping her with her hair. “I think I want to cut it,” she murmured, leaning into his fingers as he massaged her scalp.

“Please, don’t.” He shot back.

And he sounded so hopeful that she sighed, “Okay.”

They fell into bed shortly after. She was exhausted, and terrified that she wasn’t able to perform her wifely duties. But Jean just shushed her and pulled her close, stroking a hand over her still flat stomach, and telling her stories about his tour. She fell asleep with his voice in her ear.

When she woke up, the pain in her back had escalated. She reached behind her, hitting Jean Paul’s side. “Something’s wrong,” she mumbled, voice still rough with sleep. “Something’s wrong with the baby,” her breathing was picking up, panic taking over, “something’s  _ wrong _ .” He came awake slowly, hand soothing over her cramping stomach.

“What is that?” He groused, never the best when he’d first woken up. His words spurred awareness in Valencia though, and she realized they’d been lying in something wet and warm.

“No. No,” she scrambled to hit the lamp on the bedside table, throwing the covers back.

Their marriage bed, which had once been white and fluffy as a dream, was stained with blood.

She cried for three days. Jean Paul was there at every moment, attempting to console her. She let him. Let him gather her up into his arms and whisper into her ear. That they were still young. That there was still time. That he loved her.

On the fourth day, she decided that love was enough.

**March 1947**

Valerie Ann Stilinski came into the world kicking and screaming, if you asked her mother. Which Val had, again and again.

“You named her for me!” She cried over the telephone.

Ina laughed softly, still sounding tired. “ _ I did _ .”

Jean Paul was leaned up against the wall of the solar, which had become Valencia’s since she’d moved in. His face was a portrait of joy and incredible fondness, as he listened to the two best friends discuss the new baby.

“When will you leave? Now that you’ve had the little one?” Val asked, excited for the new life Ina had ahead of her.

“ _ A few months. Two or three? _ ” Ina said, and Valencia knew well enough to know that she was looking to David for confirmation. He must’ve nodded, because she repeated it more firmly a moment later, “ _ Two or three _ .”

Val made a little humming noise, glancing at her own husband. “Is there any way we could arrange a visit before you go?” This time, Jean Paul nodded at her, indicating that they were more than welcome.

“ _ We’ll see if we can _ .” Ina said, sounding unsure. It hurt Val’s feelings a little bit, the reality of never seeing Ina again, but she understood. The expenses of moving across the world might not hold up to a spontaneous trip to France.

They disconnected with declarations of love and their enduring promise that if anything ever went wrong, they would send for each other.

Jean Paul moved from his post by the door to drop onto the recliner where she’d been sitting. He pulled her feet into her lap and started massaging them. She dropped her head back against the cushions on a sigh. “You’re so good to me,” she murmured, and he chuckled lowly.

It was spring and Valencia was pregnant.

The second miscarriage was sudden and inexplicable as the first. She’d been in the gardens, reading. There was no pain. Nothing to warn her. Just the momentary sting of something tearing, and blood.

Things were tense between Valencia and Jean Paul after that. The guilt was eating her alive. And his disappointment was palpable in the house. One of the older kitchen workers in the house started supplementing her diet with roots and berries that were said to increase fertility. They were disgusting and Valencia was grateful. Her husband, who had turned out to be the most wonderful man she could ever imagine spending her life with, had only wanted one thing: children. She was failing in her ability to deliver him that one thing.

She barely slept at night for the tossing and turning. She had nightmares of dead children, of green and bottomless eyes, wild hair and harsh words. She dreamed of Maarah, and being cursed.

Jean Paul slept in a guest room. He said her fussing throughout the night made it hard for him to sleep, which in turn made it difficult for him to work in the day. She accepted this quietly, and apologized for inconveniencing him. He had no words for her.

The kitchen upped her supplements, but it was too late. Jean Paul hardly touched her anymore.

 

Days turned to weeks, which turned to months, which turned to years. Ina and David moved, their visit cancelled due to Valencia’s shame. Danielle had a beautiful baby boy, Thomas, who was growing healthily, though she was increasingly unhappy with her life. Emory had been proven correct. Danielle’s perfect life had become her cage. As always, Val was incredibly resentful of her cousin.  _ If only _ , she thought,  _ If only I could have a baby, my life would be just as perfect _ . How happy would she be, if she was the barren one? If she was the one unable to bring forth life?

 

Poisonous thoughts turned her mean, drove her husband even further away. He moved into a room in another wing in the house permanently, and travelled more often than was necessary.

Three years and two months after the supplements started, they stopped.

\-----------------

**February 1951**

 

“ _ I’m pregnant! _ ” Danielle cried into the phone, joyously, and Val grimaced. Of course. Of course Dani would be on her second pregnancy and absolutely thrilled about it. She probably  _ glowed _ .

“I’m so happy for you,” Val forced out, and it sounded strained, even to her. Danielle didn’t seem to notice, though.

“ _ Yes! Thomas is going to have a brother!! It seems everyone is popping out a kid these days. Even Remaarah’s pregnant _ ,” she giggled. Valencia stopped breathing.

“When are you going to join the ranks, Val? You’re almost twenty two now. My little monsters are going to need someone to play with.”  Her cousin forged on.

Val huffed. She didn’t need to be reminded. But this, the knowledge that the woman who’d cursed her to this existence, was having a child of her own, it made her crazy.

“I’m sorry, Dani. I have to go.”

She sat in the sunroom, staring blindly out the windows for a long time. Jean Paul found her there later. “Val? Are you coming to dinner?”

“Why don’t you touch me anymore?” She found herself saying, instead of, “I don’t think I’m hungry,” which was an entirely more acceptable response. Her husband faltered. They’d never talked about it. Outside of the absent, smokescreen excuse of nightmares, or needing rest for an upcoming trip, they’d never talked about the real reason they’d grown so far apart.

“I thought,” he started, though he sounded uncertain, “I thought, after all you’d lost….you didn’t want me to.”

They stared at each other for a long moment. “Ina said,” Val took a steadying breath, “she said that even if it wasn’t about making babies, it’s supposed to be fun. Everyone else I know is having fun. Why aren’t we? Do you not want me anymore? Because I’m damaged?”

Jean hurried to the chaise she was reclining on and kneeled at her feet. “You’re not damaged, love. I’ve never once thought you were damaged.” His hand curled over hers on the seat cushion, and he raised it to brush his lips over her knuckles. Neither of them seemed to know what to do with the information that had just sprung up between them.

“Would you be willing to,” she began, just as Jean Paul mumbled, “we could always, if you want.”

 

The possibility of it hung between them for a moment before Jean Paul arched up to smash his lips into hers. Valencia’s hands fisted into the lapels of his dinner coat, just as his tangled into the dark masses of her ebony hair.

He shifted, rising so that they were level. He cupped her face delicately in his hands and pressed into her, leaning her back against the couch. A tendril of want curled through her as her breath started to come faster. He settled awkwardly in the small gap between her legs, body resting on top of hers, holding his weight up with a forearm. Their tongues traced against each other, reacquainting themselves, moving slowly and without hurry.

Something about the scent of Jean Paul had changed since the last time Valencia had been this close to him. His cologne seemed sweeter, but she couldn’t quite place why. She was hungry for him, desperate to know all the dips and planes of him again, the way she had years ago. “Upstairs,” she breathed against his lips. He took this opportunity to duck down and suckle the soft skin of her neck.

“Here.” He grunted in response. “I want you here.”

They made desperate, passionate love on the chaise lounge on Valencia’s solar, and, when they were finished, she’d never felt better.

That night, her husband slept in bed with her for the first time in over a year.  They talked for hours, about the business, about their families, about Ina and Danielle, and, for the first time, about the curse.

“It’s foolishness, I’m sure,” Jean Paul told her softly, but Val shook her head.

“It’s why I can’t have babies. I didn’t mean to upset her. I didn’t know it would end up like this.”

But he shushed her with a soft kiss. “I refuse to believe some gypsy has so much power over our fate. Babies will come when they’re ready. And if they don’t, I’ll shower you alone with love for the rest of our lives.  Let’s never grow so far apart again, bichette, can you promise me that?”

She did, quietly, and he wrapped himself around her firm and sure as she drifted off to sleep.

**March 1951**

When she awoke the space beside her was empty and there was yelling from the foyer. It sounded like Jean Paul, which was disconcerting because, in the three and a half years they’d been married, she’d never heard him yell before. There was another man with him.

Gathering her wits about her, she grabbed a robe and headed out of her bedroom, hovering at the top of the stairs to see what the commotion was.

“You’re the worst kind of man. The absolute worst!” Peering down over the bannister, Valencia could see their nearest neighbor, Marcus Hanover, red in the face and yelling at her husband. “You pretend to be kind and upstanding, and then you prey on unsuspecting women. You trick them out of their dignities.”

Jean Paul’s arms crossed over his chest as he snorted, raising an eyebrow. “Your wife wasn’t  _ tricked _ out of anything, Hanover. Believe you me. She came willing.”

Valencia clutched her robe to her chest, where it felt like her lungs had lost the ability to take in air.

“Men like you,” Hanover stuttered, “men like you always get what’s coming to them.” And with that, he stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind him.

It was quiet, like the house took a deep breath, before Valencia squeaked out, “Jean Paul?”

The older man spun, eyes raised to wear Valencia was standing at the top of the stairs. “Bichette! I thought you were still asleep.”

“Did you…” Val continued, as though he’d said nothing. “Did you do this? Did you have an affair with Juliette Hanover?”  

His shoulders hunched with shame and he dropped his eyes from hers. “Yes,” he mumbled. “It was a year ago. It was nothing. Marcus was away and you and I weren’t…close at the time.”

Valencia stood there, frozen, not knowing what to do or say. She understood, logically, that of course Jean Paul had found someone to talk to, someone to keep him company when he wasn’t with her. But it didn’t stop the ache that was taking over her body.

“You…” she stuttered, tongue thick and heavy in her mouth, “I have to…I need to go.” And she fled, like a coward, back to their bedroom.

She laid back down in bed, comforter firmly enclosed around her, and tried to breathe deeply through her nose. She felt sick to her stomach and dizzy. What had she done? When had this become her life? The front door slammed and she figured Jean Paul had fled. She barked out a laugh. Just like him, to run when things were difficult. He hadn’t seemed too guilty when dealing with the husband of his mistress, but he couldn’t face his wife.

She rose from the bed with quick, jerky movements, rushing into their en suite. She ran herself a bath, tried to get the imagined stench of being betrayed off of her skin, but she couldn’t. She scratched at herself until red welts raised on her skin. The pain burned in a way that made sense to her, like she deserved it. She couldn’t have children, couldn’t please her husband, couldn’t leave. Her best friend might as well be a million miles away, her cousin was as close to happy as Danielle could ever be, and Valencia was alone again, and cursed.

Shaking, she pulled the plug and dragged herself out of the bath, drying and dressing swiftly. She didn’t want to linger for too long, dark thoughts were plaguing her.

Just opening the door from her bedroom into the hallway had tears threatening to spill from her eyes again. She didn’t want to see the cook, or the cleaning lady, or anyone. She scurried down the stairs and through the hallway to her solar, but she could hear the muffled whispers and footsteps behind her, so she’d knew that they’d seen her if nothing else.

Once in her office, she walked back the chaise lounge where she and her husband made love on only four weeks before. She didn’t even look at it, opting instead for the stiff, formal, high backed chair in front of her desk. She dialed blind, tears filling her eyes and finally spilling over. The operator was kind as he connected her, but reminded her gently that it was very late where she was calling, sniffing, she agreed. Even knowing, though, the sleep she heard in David’s voice made her wince. “Is everything alright, Val?” He drawled. The sound of his voice, such a comfort after so long, sent her into hysterics.

Before she could answer, she was sobbing into her arm, hiccupping violently and unable to form words. Ina’s voice was in her ear in an instant. “Valley? Val, what’s wrong, dear? What’s wrong?”

“He’s cheated on me!” She wailed, voice breaking as the sobs came harder. “The bastard,” she drew a heaving breath, “The bastard’s _ cheated _ on me with the neighbor’s wife!”

“You’re speaking French, Val. I don’t speak French.” Valencia shook her head and switched to Spanish immediately. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. And it must be so late there. Ina I’m so sorry, I should let you sleep.”

“You should tell me what’s  _ wrong _ . Is Jean Paul alright? Is it Aunt Flora?”

“No, no, it’s not Aunt Flora. She’s fine, she’s fine. It’s just…” the crying had subsided now, in her hurry to assure Ina that her aunt was fine, she’d almost forgotten the reason she’d called. “Jean Paul is a cheating bastard.” She muttered, and Ina gasped on the other end of the line. She heard the click of a bedside lamp, the shuffle of movement, “Jean Paul did  _ what _ ?”

“He cheated on me. With Juliette Hanover. She’s our nearest neighbor.” Val droned, the anger burned out of her. She slouched in her chair. Now that she was saying it aloud, it seemed to make perfect sense.

“I thought you two were doing so much better?” Ina asked gently, and Val nodded, then remembered Ina couldn’t see her. “We were. This last month it’s been wonderful between us again, like it was in the beginning. Apparently this was a year ago. Things weren’t as good a year ago.”

Her best friend hummed low in her throat. “So what do you plan to do about it?” Val slumped lower, “I don’t know. He’s run off. There’s not much I can do until he’s back here. And I don’t…I don’t have the strength to go after him, Inny. They’ve all been talking about me, in town. Poor, stupid girl from Vigo who can’t have babies.”

‘I’m sure no one says that,” Ina interjected, but Val kept talking over her.

“And Marcus, when he came this morning, he wasn’t quiet. God knows how many people he’s told. So now it’s doubly humiliating. Poor, stupid girl from Vigo who can’t have babies and has managed to chase the sweetest man in all of France into the arms of another woman.”

“If he’s hurt you, betrayed you this way, Val, I don’t think he can still be called the sweetest man in all of France. He’s an ass.”

“He’s not,” Val whined. “He just, he only wanted one thing, Ina. He wanted children. And I said I’d give them to him. And then…I couldn’t.”

“Has Juliette Hanover?” Ina snapped, and Val stopped cold.

“I…no. Juliette hasn’t been pregnant that I’ve seen.”

“Okay, so then he has no excuse. Even if she had gotten pregnant, and it had been Jean Paul’s instead of Marcus’, it’s not like your husband ever would’ve gotten to see his child outside the occasional friendly visit of neighbors. He didn’t sleep with her for children, Val. He slept with her because he’s an ass.”

Pressing the phone tightly between her head and shoulder, she brought her arms around herself and held tight as she started to shake.

“Talk to him, Val,” Ina said again, soothingly, but Val could hear her muffled yawn.

“Oh! Oh, it’s so late there! Go to bed!! I’ll…I’ll call you later. After I’ve spoken to Jean Paul. I promise. Sleep, Inny.”

“This isn’t your fault, Val. Do you believe that?” Ina asked, but Val could hear it, now, the exhaustion in her voice.

“Yes, yes I believe it. Go to sleep.”

“Alright, love. Goodnight.”

She wandered around the house after that, a listless spirit welling up in her. She couldn’t help but think of Ramaarah and the curse, and wonder if this was what her life would be forever. She thought of her father, gone too soon, and all the babies. Was she broken, or was it Ramaarah that had murdered all her babies from a curse born from misunderstanding?

Scratching at her skin again, she climbed one staircase after another, getting up into the dustier staircases that she’d never explored before. It didn’t matter, she was still naming the unborn children that had haunted the last three years of her life. She was pleased to be up here where it smelled like mold and memories, no one would bother her here. The house staff were all busy downstairs. Just a little time, she thought, I just need a little time to figure myself out. So I’ll be ready when he comes home.

 

But soon, she found herself on the roof, cool air tickling at her cheeks, and she thought she might stay up here a little longer. They sky was clear, blue, and beautiful, as was the view of the grounds from here. Up here, in this perch at the top of the world, she could see the gardens where she’d had her wedding reception, the bench where she’d lost her second child. It all combined here. She could also see the Hanover house, smoke puffing from the chimney like some idyllic fairy tale.

Juliette Hanover had two children, but she’d had them since before Val moved here.

All the sudden it was too much. It was too much, it was hard to breathe. Up here, in this perch at the top of the world, looking at Juliette Hanover’s chimney smoke, thinking of Ramaarah Keller’s baby, she decided this wasn’t a life she could live anymore. She couldn’t subject those closest to her to this pain anymore. The curse was with her, and it would die with her.

Shaking her hair behind her, she stood up and walked to the furthest edge of the roof. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes, and jumped.

\--

 

“It’s something of a miracle, actually,” was the first thing she heard when she came to, eyes straining to open. They were heavy, and caked with grime.

“Wha…” she croaked, but her throat was on fire, so the word quickly turned into a choked cough, then a desperate whimper.

“Mrs. Baptiste?” The doctor said, moving to her side. She could see the blurred movement of a white doctor’s coat on her left, a navy blue dress to her right.

“Flora?” She muttered, and her aunt dipped down.

“Yes, mija, I came as soon as I heard. What you were you thinking, Valley? What were you thinking?” Her words were harsh, but her voice was shaking, and there was a soothing hand in Val’s hair. Her head hurt, and things didn’t seem to be adding up quite right.

“How did you get here so quickly? How long…what?”

The doctor cleared his throat. “Mrs. Baptiste,” the title made her cringe, with the recollection of Jean Paul’s betrayal, “It’s been five days.” Valencia jolted, immediately trying to sit up only to be restrained by the doctor’s firm hand. “Ma’am,” he said, which was ridiculous, because she was twenty one, “Ma’am” He said again, and she laid back down, because she realized she wasn’t going anywhere until he’d said his piece. “I should explain to you, that the fact that you survived the fall is the most miraculous thing I’ve ever seen in twenty eight years of practicing medicine. You broke three ribs, your arm, both of your legs, and did serious damage to your neck. You’re healing nicely, and I don’t understand it, but it isn’t the kind of thing I’d advise you do again. Do you understand? You shouldn’t be alive right now. You wouldn’t survive this again.”

She would, though. This was proof. Maarah had said it, that she couldn’t die, couldn’t take herself away from this farce of a life, until a son born of her blood pulled lightning from the heart of a wolf. She could endure all the tortures, over and over again, but she couldn’t die.

“The real miracle is this child.” Aunt Flora whispered, and then gasped and covered her mouth.

Valencia went very, very still. “The what?” She whispered, and she couldn’t have been louder even if her voice was at it’s full capacity.

The doctor shot her aunt a glare. “We’d wanted to wait until you were feeling a little better to tell you, but yes. Tests show that you are a little over four weeks pregnant.”

A hysterical laughed bubbled up and spilled out of Val. “A baby! Another baby!” She cried.

“Where,” Val stuttered out, not even wanting to acknowledge the possibility of children after everything that’d happened, “where’s my husband? Where’s Jean Paul?” The doctor’s eyes immediately fell to the floor. He made the excuse of needing to check on another patient and fled the room.

The cold spike stabbed through Val’s chest again.

“Where is he, Aunt Flora? What’s happened?” She strained out, throat still feeling like she was gargling gravel.

“He’s…it’s….he’s dead Valencia. He…” Val choked, tears welling up in her eyes. “He was found….beaten to death outside of the local tavern the very same evening you came in.”

Valencia cried for her cheating bastard of a husband, but she made sure Marcus Hanover was locked away forever.

Amelie and Brienne Baptiste screamed their way into the world, healthy and whole, on October 31, 1951. Valencia took one look at them and decided that these two lives might just be worth all the deaths it took to get them here. 


	6. Chapter 3: Instincts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating changeeeeeee

**Derek**

Stiles was pale, his eyes bright in the clearing. Derek thought he could see every speck of gold, honey and fear that reflected in them. It made him feel a little sick.

“What?” The human panted out, knees trembling.

Derek wondered, briefly, if anyone else could see it, the way Stiles was shaking. The trees started to rustle around him and Derek was snapped out of his thoughts. Thunder thrummed through the clearing again.

“Stiles,” McCall said softly, “Calm down, buddy…”

But Stiles didn’t hear him, or didn’t care. The wind started to pick up, shifting from the gentle rustling of leaves to the forceful push and blow of them. The temperature seemed to drop several degrees.

“How much can he do?” Derek asked into the quiet.

“We don’t know,” the big one, Danny, responded.

“Took him three years just to do the rain.” McCall added, eyes still on Stiles.

Derek had never learned much about _why_ pack dynamics worked the way they did. He’d never been in line for Alpha, so there’d never been any need. But it was interesting to see, here, the way this motley pack of bitten wolves, humans, and magical entities shifted around each other the way a real wolf pack would in times of trouble. The two wolves, McCall and the blonde, had been on the ends of their ragged line. They shifted inward, towards Stiles, as the wind picked up. McCall however, kept the Argent on his right side and behind him, protected from everything, including Stiles. The big one, who’d been to Stiles’ left, shifted forward, so that his broad chest was just barely brushing Stiles’ left shoulder, and it made Derek want to growl. His mate was vulnerable, and nobody should be _touching_ him right now. Especially some human who couldn’t protect him. He bit the growl back though, when the redhead strode purposefully until she was almost directly in front of Stiles, barely allowing Derek a clean line of sight. The blond were was at his right side. They’d closed ranks around their vulnerable pack member, who hadn’t said a word the entire time.

The redhead clutched at his hand. There was a marked absence of sound in the clearing.

“Stiles!” He barked out.

The young man blinked, but didn’t take his eyes off Laura.

“Breathe.”

And Stiles did. A shuddering inhale and exhale. It was pathetic the way that small change seemed to tilt the world back onto its axis. This whole mates thing was tiring. The wind blew stronger.

“Stiles, calm down…” McCall tried again, more firmly now, eyes shifting between Stiles, Laura, and his own mate.

“No.” Stiles replied, firmly, “Not until someone answers my questions.” He raised a shaking finger, and pointed at Laura, “You. You said my mom had known your Uncle Peter. Second generation…my mother?”

Lightning, silent and far off, lit up the clearing as thunder boomed through, almost deafening, even to werewolves. The big one and the Argent covered their ears briefly. Derek noticed the brunette’s hand returned immediately to the weapon in her bag. As much as Derek wanted to hate her—wanted to hate any Argent, on sight-- there was respect burgeoning in him. She was tense and alert, and would be until her pack was settled, a true Alpha mate, through and through.

“What do you know about your mother’s magic?” Laura began, cautiously. The wind was picking up speed, slowly but steadily. Lightning flashed closer, Derek could smell where it’d burned the earth.

“Nothing!” Stiles snapped in reply, “My mother wasn’t—she didn’t have any…My mother went crazy. She had a rare form of dementia. She wasn’t making any sense, at the end. Talking about curses and...” He shuddered and stopped, like a car dying on the side of the road. The woods went silent behind him. The wind quieted, the clearing darkened, devoid of lightning. The thunder didn’t seek vengeance against the quiet of the trees.  The entire forest smelled sad.

Boyd, Isaac, and Laura all shifted in discomfort. The blonde closest to Stiles went so far as to whine and duck her head in towards him, nose running lightly along his shoulder blade. He tilted his head towards her, accepting the comfort, letting her nose run up the curve of his neck. Just as Derek wanted to growl territorially, he felt Boyd stiffen, and smirked in memory of the way he’d eyed the blonde beta in the shop earlier.

The young man had stopped breathing again. “Stiles,” Derek called, “ _breathe_.” He was going to catch hell for this, he knew. There was no way his pack wasn’t going to notice his attachment to the sound of this kid breathing.

Stiles took a shuddering breath, and then the forest erupted.

The rain came back with a vengeance. The wind barreled through the clearing, picking up and moving everything it could. Leaves, pinecones, and small branches swirled around, lodging themselves in eyes and hair and articles of clothing. Derek stood still, watching Stiles, who was watching Laura, who was watching Stiles, looking more bereft than she ever had. Like she couldn’t fathom the words required to apologize for what she’d done.

The thunder returned next, vibrating through them with the force of its power, then lightning: long, angry streaks of white that bisected the night sky at intervals that grew smaller and smaller until they hit a tree right at the edge of the clearing. It split, straight down the middle, smelling of smoke and tangerines. Two even slices of oak tree severed and fell back into the woods behind them, with a protestant groan that was drowned out by a new roll of thunder.

But the wind had been growing angrier all the while. Larger branches began to separate from trees, falling to the ground and rolling, or sometimes levitating oddly throughout the clearing. It wasn’t until one of them struck the blonde in the temple that everyone seemed to snap out of their collective daze.

“We’ve got to get the humans out of here!” McCall shouted.

Boyd and Isaac nodded, moving towards the McCall pack to assist. The Alpha himself had already shoved his mate into the arms of the big one (Danny, he told himself to remember), and was shooing them out of the clearing. Boyd reached the redhead, her hands still clasped tight around Stiles’ and he said something to her that Derek couldn’t hear over the roar of the wind. She shook her head. He said it again, his brow furrowed in confusion. She said something to him, something else Derek couldn’t hear. It was disconcerting, not knowing what people were saying, he wasn’t used to it. His eyes narrowed and he tried to listen in closer, but all he got was more of the wind’s forlorn howl.

Apparently, though, Boyd was done negotiating with the young woman, and he reached out to grab her arm and bodily remove her from the clearing. Even as he moved to grab at her, she’d pulled something from her waistband and slashed out at him with it. He jumped back in time to avoid being cut, and, in an instant, the blonde was there. She murmured something to the redhead that had tears welling up over those glass green eyes. Her and Boyd led the young woman out of the clearing, though they both returned soon after.

When the physical ties between him and his pack members had been broken, Stiles’ eyes had begun to glow, corneas almost white with power.

 _My mother didn’t have any magic_ Derek heard echo through his head. He immediately knew it was Stiles, if he wasn’t quite sure why. He immediately knew it was directed at Laura, but that didn’t make any sense, because the first beta she turned was Boyd. Even still, he turned to her, her eyes still on Stiles, looking so lost, and said, “He says his mother didn’t have any magic?”

Laura spun around, her eyes huge on his and even as she nodded, he heard Stiles’ bitter _It wasn’t a fucking question_ ring through him like a bell.

Laura took a tentative step toward him. “She _did_ . I don’t know what it was, but Uncle Peter knew. My mother knew. My _grandmother_ knew.” And that plucked at some string in him, brought him closer to understanding. “She was pack, she was human, and Uncle Peter said that her gift was extraordinary.”

Stiles snorted. _So I’m just supposed to trust you? When you’ve brought war and out of control betas onto our territory. I’m just supposed to trust that everything you say is true and you have our best interests at heart?_

Derek growled at that and was shocked when Stiles sent him a human, but equally vicious growl right back. “He doesn’t trust us. He doesn’t believe you,” he ground out, and Laura’s brows furrowed for the first time, like she realized there may have been more to the conversation than just her part.

 _You haven’t given me any reason to. You sneak into town like thieves. You had to smell that there were wolves here. You could’ve sniffed us out at any time, but you waited. You waited until Chris ran to seek us out, to terrify his daughter and confuse his friends. How do I know this isn’t still all some big trap for Argent? How do I_ **_know?!_**

Stiles’ breathing picked up as the wind died down, and the thunder petered itself out. The blonde had just slipped back through the trees, and was by his side in an instant.

“Breathe with me, Stiles,” she said, under her breath, but all the werewolves could still hear her. He was trying, Derek could tell. Deep, gasping breaths that resulted in a wheeling oscillation between no air and entirely too much.

 _Can’t._ He wheezed in Derek’s mind, _Can’t._

And just like that, Derek was up and off the steps. Stiles’ hands were balled up at his sides, and Derek grabbed them and placed them palms down on his chest.

“Follow me,” he said, sternly, and began taking deep, even breaths in and out. It took two minutes, but soon, Stiles was breathing with him.

 _It’s so obvious you’re a supernatural creature. Nobody’s pecs actually feel like this._ A voice whined in his subconscious, and Derek was caught so off guard, he chuckled a little. He could almost _feel_ Stiles’ flush rise under his skin. _Oh yeah, you can hear me thinking now. That’s bullshit._ He tried for nonchalant, but it came through just as vulnerable as everything else had.

“Stop thinking, then, and talk.”

Stiles shuddered once, but then he rose his head, his eyes their normal warm amber, and took his hands off Derek’s chest. He looked at Laura sharply.

“We can’t accept your proposal without time to think. We appreciate that you come in peace, and it seems like you have a lot to offer, but we still have to think. You’ll be hearing from us.” And he turned and strode from the clearing, blonde beta scurrying after him, just like earlier that day.

Except for this time, Derek hadn’t caused the damage. He turned on Laura.

“What the hell did you do?!” He roared, but was brought up short at the sight of his sister, his Alpha, looking after Stiles, tears welling up in her eyes. When they trailed back to meet his, they were ashamed.

“I have no idea.”

 

**Scott**

 

Scott was pacing, restlessly. On every pass, Allison would reach out and touch his thigh, his hip, his side. He made eye contact with her a few times, her eyes silently screaming for him to calm down. He nodded, sharply, but went right back to pacing. He couldn’t settle down, not with members of his pack still outside the relative safety of Stiles’ apartment. Not until everyone was under his eyes and whole.

When Stiles and Erica did make it back, guilt almost choked Scott where he stood. Stiles looked _wrecked_ . Erica was holding the majority of his weight, and he wasn’t even making pseudo macho jokes about it. He just sagged against her, smiling slightly at everyone he made eye contact with, including Scott. They were all silent in his presence for a moment, remembering what he’d done, how he’d almost ripped the forest apart. He sat on the couch, seeming to be gathering himself, before he sat up and said, “We are _not_ taking this deal.”

The venom in his voice was all Scott could take. He buckled, sinking into a crouch on the floor, head in his hands. He knew his voice would be muffled, but he said anyway, “We **have** to. We have to take the deal!” He brought his head up, and focused on a spot on the wall right behind Stiles’ head as he started to explain. “I can’t _do_ this, you get that? Stiles, you had a friggin meltdown in the woods, and I was so worried about Allison and the baby that I left you in the woods with strange werewolves to _die.”_ Groaning, he rose to his feet again, looking at his pack. Without giving anyone time to process, he barreled on.

“I’m just gonna lay it out, here. We’ve never been the type for secrets. I’m scared, guys. Allison’s pregnant, and we don’t know anything about werewolf genetics. We don’t know how that’s going to turn out. She’s been sick sometimes, in the morning, and that’s normal, but sometimes there’s blood, and the doctor says that’s not. The Hales were a huge family before the fire. They’re going to know more about this pregnancy than anybody. That’s a priority for me. Stiles’ mom being their pack human, being magic, we need that information. That’s a priority for me. Knowing how to handle this thing with Stiles? You guys,” he looked around the room again, eyes settling on each of them, and then moving away, “Stiles brought down a tree tonight. With fucking lightning. That’s awesome. And Lydia,” Scott’s eyes rested on hers, “I don’t know what you’ve seen. And I know you don’t like to tell us but…everything going on with you is completely natural. We’ve never tried to hone it or train it in any way. What if you can do more? What if they know how to teach that? These are assets to the pack that can’t go overlooked. They’re a priority to me. But most importantly, with Jackson gone, and Allison compromised, and this clusterfuck between the Hales and the Argents? More wolves is a priority for me. We need all the help we can get.”

Everyone pretty much nodded in agreement. Scott continued, his face turning slightly pained, “I’m not fit to lead right now.”

“Scott,” Allison murmured, but he shook his head and pressed on, “I’m not. What she was saying, about Alpha’s wanting roots? That’s true. I’m…Allison’s pregnant and it’s messing with my head. With my judgment. I’m not making smart decisions. I’m not thinking clearly. I’m thinking like an animal,” he was ashamed, and Lydia’s voice floated to him quietly from across the room,

“That’s not fair to you, Scott.”

“It might not be, but it’s true. Now stop interrupting me and let me finish.” There was Alpha command in it, so rarely used that it was powerful. “I’m not thinking like a leader. I’m thinking like a wolf with a pregnant mate. I wouldn’t ask you guys to follow me into any kind of fight right now. It’d be suicide. And there’s going to be a fight. So. I’m going to call Laura. We’re going to take the deal. We’re going to learn, and grow, and, hopefully, be better for it. I’m going to submit. And we are all going to treat our new Alpha with the utmost respect. I have faith in you guys, you’re going to make me look like the best Alpha there ever was.” He cracked a grin at the end, and most of the pack smiled back at him, except Stiles.

And then he strode into Stiles’ bedroom, closing the door behind him. He dropped himself down onto the bed, exhausted. He purposefully tuned out the voices of his pack outside the door. Pulling his phone out, he stared at it for a moment, before pulling a card out of his pocket and dialing the number.

The phone rang twice before it was picked up, “Hale,” Laura barked through it.

Scott sighed once, then blurted out, “We’re in.”

“Back at the house then. An hour. Bring Stiles.” The line was immediately disconnected.

Scott looked at the phone, furious that this was the woman he was handing his pack over to.

When he rose, he felt heavy and wrong. He moved quietly through the darkened room, hand hovering on the doorknob as he let the sounds of the pack filter back in. When he opened the door, he found them all crowded around Allison. Danny and Erica were literally beaming, smiling and cooing. Lydia had an absent hand on his wife’s stomach, her eyes glassy and distant. Stiles stood back, watching it all, his lips curled up into a smile. Scott felt like a heel immediately. This was what his wife and pack deserved. They were expanding,  bringing new life into their small bubble, and instead of treating it like the joyous event that it was, he was freaking out and screwing everything up.

As usual, his best friend was the first to break away from the crowd, clapping a hand on his Alpha’s shoulder. “Whatever you need, Scotty. Whatever you need, we’ll make it work.”

Scott nodded. “I’m an ass. This is a happy time. I fucked it up.”

Stiles just shook his head. “You’re under a lot of pressure. Everybody gets that. It’ll be fine. We’re always fine, Scott.”

The Alpha nodded, “We’ve gotta be back at Hale house in an hour.” Stiles hummed his agreement, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall.

Scott made his way into his group of friends, head down. Allison’s eyes moved to him immediately, and she held her arms out to him. He folded himself into her, nuzzling into her neck, reveling in the way her hands slipped through his hair. “It’ll be alright. No matter what, we’ll be alright, babe.” He chuckled a little, at the way Allison and Stiles’ thoughts so often mirrored each other.

He let himself smile and whisper, “We’re having a baby,” into her throat.

She chuckled, “Yeah. Yeah, we are.”

Something unbelievable filled him then, a hope like he’d never be able to describe. He lifted Allison up off her feet and spun her around. Her laughter swirled around him and he felt lighter with each burst of it.

“Alright, alright! I heard our fearless leader saying something about being out of here in an hour, so let’s get some food in ‘em.”  Erica called out, breaking up the ruckus. She walked towards the kitchen and everyone followed her. The essentials were pulled out. Bread, mustard, mayo, lettuce. tomatoes, turkey and ham. Stiles’ kitchen was small, as it was just him, but the counter space was maximized for these kinds of endeavors, and they had the system down to an art.

Allison started, layering two slices of bread with mustard and mayo. Scott plopped one leaf of lettuce, two thin slivers of tomato on either side. Erica was the only one that could slice onions without crying (she claimed werewolf healing, but what the hell did that make Scott, chopped liver?), so she handled that portion, Danny layered on the ham and turkey, Stiles placed three perfect slices of bacon on top, and Lydia closed them up and cut them into triangles. It was childish, but for some reason it made them all feel like they were at home.

The sandwiches made, the conversation turned back to the coming change of power.

“You become her second. I’d rather you not thinking clearly than Hale.” Erica called out, “he was super erratic earlier. And you heard him on the phone that first time. He was rude. They don’t all seem like that, so off kilter.”

“Laura said he’s just having a hard time adjusting,” Scott reasoned, but Lydia shook her head.

“That means he shouldn’t be in a position of power right now either, right? That’s why you’re submitting in the first place, is because you have to make an adjustment and you’re not fit to lead. So, same deal. We get it,” she stopped, looking around to make sure everyone agreed with her. She was met with nods of encouragement, “We get that you need to submit. We’re so happy for you guys, and we understand that you need to be close, that you can’t really handle all of it right now. But you and Stiles are the ones we look to in these kinds of situations. You’re saying you’re compromised. Stiles doesn’t like the situation at all… It would just make everyone feel better.”

“How do you feel about it?” Scott asked, giving Lydia a level look, remembering her altercation with Laura earlier.

“Laura is a part of our future,” she said, voice sure. Then she hesitated, “It’s not…it’s not a good time we’re going into, Scott. She’s necessary.” Scott nodded. He stood silently for a moment, brow creased in concentration.  After a long moment, he sighed.

“I can’t do it, you guys.”

“What the hell do you mean, ‘you can’t do it’?” His best friend snapped, “Don’t tell us that your last act as Alpha is going to be to completely disregard the needs of your pack because I swear to fucking God, McCall, I’ll shoot you up with wolfsbane myself.”

A vicious growl cut through the kitchen.

Allison gasped. Five heads snapped to her immediately, ten eyes widened in shock. She blushed, prettily, ducking her head. “I’ve never done that before,” she mumbled, embarrassed. Glancing up again, she met Scott’s eyes, and beamed at the unabashed pride she found there.

Lydia and Stiles simultaneously burst out into peals of laughter. Erica and Danny followed almost immediately.

“Oh my gosh! Allison just fucking growled at you!” Erica cried, dropping into a crouch on the floor, arm wrapped around her stomach, “I don’t even know, I don’t even know what I’m supposed to do with that.”

“Pack mommy’s got claws now,” Stiles added on, his face flushing with laughter. Allison chuckled a little herself, but she was still mostly embarrassed.

“Oh, no, no, no.” Lydia clucked, wrapping her arms around her best friend on the couch. “This is awesome. We’re not laughing at you, sweetie. This is so great.” Allison smiled and nodded.

Lydia shifted when Scott came to plop down on the couch and wrap his arms around his wife. Squeezing her, he murmured, “You know I have to try and make you do that in bed now, right?”

Allison blushed and Erica turn slightly green, “Okay! Okay! It’s officially gross. Back to pack business, please God.”

Scott smiled sheepishly and looked up at Stiles. “Second’s still you, man.” He said it easily, and Stiles’ eyes turned huge.

“You guys, I don’t…I’m not even…like, qualified. I could’ve burned down the fucking forest tonight because I had a little scare!”

“Finding out your mother was a magical being that ran with wolves and that a pack of them had come to collect you is hardly a ‘little scare’, Stilinski.” Lydia quipped.

Erica nodded, and shrugged. “Besides, who’s got the dog whistle?” This coaxed a smile from Stiles, though it looked slightly strained.

After that, the conversation turned back to idle gossip from around town. Danny kept topping off Allison’s water when she wasn’t looking, and Erica had shifted to make sure she got more than her normal share of the pillows. Scott was rubbing her feet, but that wasn’t abnormal. Stiles laughed a little harder at her jokes than normal. All of this, though, could’ve gone unnoticed. It was Lydia that tipped it off. Lydia, who let Allison get all the way through some he said, she said tale of dramatic woe, without ever once correcting her.

When Allison finished the story, and everyone laughed and “awwwed”, her eyes suddenly narrowed on her best friend, then her water glass, then her pillows, then Stiles. She shook her head vehemently. “No, no! Nope. This isn’t happening.”

“Uh, Scott, buddy, I think it’s about time we go,” Stiles said, shifting out of an armchair and towards the door.

“Freeze, Stilinski!” Scott watched as his best friend stopped, and turned back to face her.

“Alright, listen up kids. I am not some wilting violet. I can get my own damn water. You can tell me when my jokes aren’t funny or I’m not telling the story right. I don’t need any extra pillows.” The betas heads dropped, suitably chastised, her eyes flicked to Scott’s, “You, mister, cannot stop rubbing my feet. Ever. For any reason. Got it?”

Scott grinned back at her, continuing his light massage, “I’m pretty sure it was in the vows.”

“Damn right it was in the vows,” she replied, sipping more of her water.

He leaned in to kiss her softly on the cheek. “Permission to pause the foot rub and go trade in my Alpha status?”

She spun back to look at him, eyes wide, “Hey, if this isn’t what you want, we don’t have to do it like this. You can be the Alpha, honey. You don’t have to worry about me like you do, the pack, _as you can see_ , is fine doing that on their own. I don’t want you to feel like…”

Letting go of her feet, he gripped her face in his hands. “No, Allison, no. I was joking. This is what I want. I want to be able to give you my full attention, alright? I want that. Laura and Stiles can figure out the rest. It’s Stiles. It’ll be fine.” He kissed her forehead, lightly, “Don’t worry, alright?”

“As honored as I am,” Stiles chirped from his place at the door, “We’ve kinda got a meeting to get to, and I’m pretty sure you guys are going to make poor Erica puke.”

“Alright, alright, get out of here.” She waved at them,

Stiles turned before he could leave, eyes falling on Danny. “You’ll need to get Abby. Bring her to the clearing after, I’ll text you.”

The older man looked hesitant.

“I get it, but she’s not gonna understand a pack merger if she’s never met the new pack, or the new alpha. We won’t let anything happen to her Danny. On my life.” Stiles finished seriously, and then he waited until Danny nodded.

“Thank you,” Stiles said as he left the house.  

He and Scott drove for a while in silence, Stiles’ fingers tapping absently along with the radio.

Scott turned it down.

“What’s up, o fearless leader?” Stiles said, not taking his eyes off the road.

“That was...a lot, earlier.”

His best friend shrugged. “You know I do weird stuff when I’m…upset or whatever,” He said, like it was nothing. And it was so like Stiles to play it off that way.

Scott wasn’t having it. “Never anything like that, though. That was...it took us years for you to control the little rain trick, Stiles. And outside of that thing with the trees, when you thought we were all in mortal danger…” He trailed off, unsure of what to say. “You brought down a tree with lightning, Stiles. _Lightning_. That’s gonna be valuable to them. You remember how Jackson couldn’t shift for a week after he shocked himself that time?”  

Stiles chuckled and nodded.

“Right, which is why we’re doing this, so I can figure it out. But, we always knew it wasn’t just rain and trees. It’s a mixed bag, dude.”

It was frightening to consider how deep the bag might go, how much Stiles might be able to do that they hadn’t figured out yet. Looking at his best friend again, Scott noticed the bags under his eyes, the way he shifted and bit the inside of his cheek, like he was trying not to yawn.

“Oh my God, you’re exhausted.”

“Nah, nah. I mean, yeah, I’m probably gonna sleep for a week after this, but it’s good, man. I’m fine.”

“You didn’t want this. You wanted me to be second, less responsibility, you wanted a break, and I just threw you in the middle of it.” Scott huffed, throwing himself back against the seat a little. _Stupid, stupid, stupid_ , he chanted in his head.

“Woah, woah. Calm down. When the hell have I ever just gone willingly into anything I wasn’t down for? I’m good at two things, dude, werewolves and criminals. So, more werewolves isn’t really a big deal for me, okay? Just, calm down. I can do this. This isn’t a big deal.” The yawn bled out before he could catch it, and Stiles had the decency to look a little sheepish, “We might have to institute a firm ‘Stiles’ nap time’ though.”

This dragged a laugh out of Scott, who just turned the radio back up. They pretty much had to live with the weight of their decisions now.

Parking the car, they trekked off into the forest towards the house. Stiles was bitching, there were a million turnoffs in the Preserve, and he knew one of them had to be the driveway for the house. If he could just figure out which one it was…

Scott had pretty much tuned him out in favor of listening, and scenting the air. It smelled like tension. Even from here, though they were well out of range of the house, the whole forest smelled tense, like it knew something was changing. A few minutes later, they stumbled into the clearing, and Scott understood why.

Laura was a wolf, huge, black and beautiful under the light of the half moon. Her eyes gleamed red as she paced. Derek sat against the stairs, tracking her movements, completely human. He was angry, it rolled off him in waves, but under control it seemed. His eyes moved to Stiles, and softened just a little. Scott turned to his best friend, who was pointedly looking anywhere but the other man.

Derek sighed, “Are you _thinking_ at me right now, Stiles?”

Stiles perked up immediately, “Is it working?” The werewolf shook his head, and Stiles’ shoulders slumped.

“It was worth a shot,” he muttered, knowing everyone could hear him.

Laura chortled. Derek turned his eyes back to Scott.

“For a true submission, there has to be a fight,” he called out,pushing himself upright. His arms crossed over his chest, bulging his biceps out, and Scott couldn’t help but think he was being a huge showoff. He grinned like he knew that, and continued with his dramatic monologue. “She has to beat you as the wolf, to control you as the man.”

Scott rolled his eyes. This was stupid. But fine, he thought, stripping off his shirt. If this is how it needed to go, then this is how it would go. 

“Wounds from an Alpha won’t heal easy,” Stiles murmured, and Derek’s eyes met his. He nodded. 

“Okay, Scott’s a fucking veterinarian, can we not make it look like he was in a bar brawl over the weekend?”

Derek’s eyes lit with humor as they met Scott’s, “You work with Deaton?”

Scott nodded. The older wolf chuckled a little, nodded, and sat back down.

Not knowing what the hell that was supposed to mean, Scott turned his eyes on Laura, and shifted.

They circled each other. Here, at his most base form, he was his weakest. He was distracted. All of his instincts were with his mate, and this wolf wasn’t an immediate threat. He schooled himself just enough to prevent from loping off, from following the faint trail her scent had left in the woods back to her. Back _home_. He waited.

Laura grew impatient. She growled and snarled and snapped her teeth. Scott waited. Eventually, she lunged. He met her, head on. Irritation plagued him. He couldn’t remember why he was here, what he was doing. His claws raked into her side, she whimpered, he tried to close his jaws around her throat but she was faster, she sliced at his belly and he staggered back, circling again.

“Shit,” he heard, somewhere far, far off, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was this, finishing this so he could get back to her.

His stomach wasn’t healing. He lunged at her, daggering into her eye and missing, reveling in her yelp as he cut across the sensitive skin below it. She retaliated, four hot spikes of pain lit up along his spine and he whined pitifully. He bit into her flank, she wrapped her teeth around his ankle, biting and dragging him down, flipping him, he brought his paws up above his face, swiping at her neck, her jaws. She pinned him all the same, jaws closing over the soft skin of his throat, tightening as she growled out her intent. There was nothing left to do, no fight left in him. There hadn’t been much to begin with. He tilted his head up, showing her his submission. She howled, violent and sure, up at the half moon, and he felt like his lungs were being sucked out of his mouth. Suddenly, there wasn’t enough air to sustain him and her too. He stopped breathing.

He closed his eyes before the world could go dark.

“Scott! Scott! Scotty! Come on, man, your wife started _growling_ at people earlier, don’t make me go back there and tell her you’re dead.”

Stiles’ voice echoed around in his head, and he pulled his eyes open. The first thing he noticed was the lack. He didn’t know how else to describe it. He was still him, all his parts were still there, though most of them hurt like hell. He was still stronger, sharper than the average human, but there was definitely something missing. He wasn’t an Alpha anymore.

His best friend’s face was alight with relief. “Thank fucking God. It’s bad enough you look like shit. Can you get up?”

He nodded, grunting, and dragged himself off the ground, pretending Stiles’ steady hand on his back wasn’t helping at all. He slipped into the pair of boxers and sweats he was handed, and sat down on a tree trunk.

It filled him with pride to find Laura looking equally exhausted. There was a long, jagged cut under her eye, she was bleeding from her side and her thigh. She’d slipped into modest underwear, which he was grateful for. The wolves didn’t tend to feel strongly about nudity, but his wife was a different story. Derek had a sure hand on her shoulder, and he knew that the older man was taking her pain. She was allowing him, biding her time, watching.

The pack bond thrummed. It was different from before, stronger. He felt Erica, tried to reach out to her, felt her grasp him back. Knew that she would tell Allison that he was fine.

“Can I make a proposal? It’s not a condition, I’m not the Alpha anymore, but I think it will help you, especially with everything that’s coming.” Scott called out, and Stiles glanced down at him, concerned.

Laura motioned for him to get on with it.

“Stiles’ Nap Time.” Scott called out, and delighted in his best friend tipping his head back and laughing, “Dude, I was kidding!”

Scott smiled but shook his head. “I’m not,” he said, giving Laura a look that he hoped expressed utter seriousness without being disrespectful to her station. “The magic drains him. Like, supernatural draining. And I get it. With the lightning, and werewolves, and electricity. And Lydia found some stuff…on how the Argents use it for torture…”

Stiles’ eyes flew between his best friend and the Hales, widening. He hadn’t known about that part.

“He and his magic are going to be a huge asset to you with mess coming. They won’t be expecting it,” he held a hand up at Laura’s opening mouth, “You’d be dumb if you hadn’t thought of it. If you teach him how to master it, he’ll do it for you,” Scott breathed.

“For _us,_ ” Stiles corrected, and Scott nodded. There was no change in Stiles’ scent. He just stood at Scott’s shoulder, steady.

“But I’m not gonna watch him run himself into the ground for you. So, two hours, three days a week. He does nothing. He sleeps. He watches tv. He plays Halo. He eats curly fries. He doesn’t deal with Pack work, he doesn’t bring the station home with him. Nothing. He chills.”

Laura nodded. “Derek will make sure.” Both Derek and Stiles made sounds of discontent, and Laura laughed.

“Look, the issue of second, with human pack members, is more complicated than you might think. In Hale pack as it was, we never had to explicitly state who was second in command, the pack bond did it for us. In an all werewolf pack, the second is the person the Alpha trusts the most. That permeates the bond, the wolves know, and respond. I can’t turn that off. Derek’s my brother. I know that he has Boyd, Isaac and I’s best interest at heart.”

“You see how that’s a mass—“ Stiles started, but Laura just kept talking.

“Yes, Stiles. I see how that’s a problem. But I can’t turn it off. Right now, it’s split down the middle. I trust you implicitly with the care of the humans. Which is important, because, without the pack bond, there’s no way for me to make them respect me as Alpha. I’ve got to earn that the old fashioned way. They’ll need someone they can trust in the meantime. I _could_ force Derek and Isaac and Boyd to treat you as second, the pack bond would allow that, but I don’t think that’s how you want to earn the position.”

The younger man rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, “No, the old fashioned way works for me.”

“Right. So, in the meantime, the bond will reinforce for them the idea that Derek is their second. Which means that, for now, the both of you are my second. As a unit. Stiles has to get to know and earn the trust and respect of the wolves, Derek with the humans, and there’s no better way to do that than with each other’s help. So. Derek will make sure Stiles gets his rest. And Stiles, you’ll help Derek with his people skills.”

“Kill me now.” Derek groaned, and Stiles grunted in agreement.

Progress, Scott thought with a smile.

Laura was looking at Scott now, who nodded, tired.

Knowing Stiles was tired, too, he rose from the stump he’d been sitting on. “We done?”

Laura nodded, “Just about,” she said, directing her attention to Stiles. “I need you and Lydia at this address tomorrow morning. We’ll start on your training immediately,” she handed a slip of paper to him, and Scott was surprised at how much it stung. He’d never wanted it, being an Alpha, never thought he was much good at it, but being just a beta was…weird.

“What about Allison’s pregnancy?”  Stiles demanded, “She’s sick, in ways we’ve never experienced before.”

Laura nodded again. “If either Scott or the Argent—“

Scott growled, but Stiles hand on his shoulder cut it off pretty quickly. “Her last name is McCall now, and if you could just…he’s still figuring out his instincts, with her being pregnant, and the history between your families. I know you’re Alpha now, but we’d appreciate it if we could tone down the drama a bit.” All the air rushed out of Scott, and he remembered again why he chose Stiles for this.

Laura nodded. “I’ll work on it. If Scott or Allison is available to be at that address tomorrow, I can provide some materials for them. If neither of you can make it,” she was addressing Scott now, so he looked up at her, “I’ll send some stuff home with Stiles, but it won’t be as much. A lot of it has to stay where it is for safety purposes.” He nodded.

“Uncle Scott? Uncle Stiles?” They heard a small voice cut through the forest, and Scott sighed. He’d forgotten about Abby.

Laura and Derek’s heads whipped toward her voice, Derek’s eyes flaring.

Stiles scoffed, “You would flash murder eyes at an eight year old. Get it together, Hale, Jeez.” He said, before jogging into the woods and coming back with the small child perched on his hip.

“Abby, baby, I want you to meet some people.” Stiles told her, as Danny walked slowly into the clearing behind them.

“They’re wolves,” Abby said quietly, nose buried in Stiles’ neck. He nodded gently.

“This nice lady, Laura, is our Alpha now.”

That brought Abby out of her hiding spot. “No! Uncle Scott's the Alpha! I don’t want a new Alpha! I don’t like her!!” She cried, fat tears rolling down her brown cheeks.

“I’m sorry sweetpea, Uncle Scott is…very tired. And he can’t be the Alpha right now, so Miss Laura is going to help, she’s going to be our Alpha, because I need her to be.” Scott assured her, running a hand over her hair.

“If you wanted her to, then why’d you fight?” Abby asked, eyes narrowed.

Scott shrugged, “You know wolves, we like to fight.” He grinned at her until she couldn’t help but grin back.

She started to squirm on Stiles’ hip, so he put her down. She walked very carefully over to where Laura sat, bleeding, on the steps, and held out her hand.

“My name is Abigail Leigh Mahealani. I’m a beta of the McCall pack. It’s very nice to meet you.”

Laura coughed out a laugh, but she took Abby’s hand and shook it very seriously. “I’m Alpha Laura Hale. This is my little brother, Derek Hale, he’s a beta too. I used to be the Alpha of the Hale pack, but now I guess I’m the Alpha of the McCall pack too.”

Abby frowned. “What will you call it?” She asked, and Laura tilted her head.

“I guess we’ll just call it the Beacon Hills pack now, if that’s okay?”

Abby scrunched up her face in thought. “My name is Abigail Leigh Mahealani,” she murmured, obviously to herself. “I’m a beta of the Beacon Hills Pack. My Alpha is…” she looked around from encouragement and found it on all sides, “Laura Hale?”

Laura beamed at her, nodding. “I think it sounds pretty good, what about you?”

Abby made her wait a minute, before nodding. “It’ll do,” she sniffed, channeling her inner Lydia. “I liked meeting you, Alpha. You too Mr. Derek,” she said, smiling at him even though he hadn’t said a single word to her.

Skipping back across the clearing, she plastered herself to Danny’s side again. “Do I get to go back to grandma’s house?” She asked as they headed back through the thick woods towards the cars.

“I need to get him out of here. Moonbeam’s gonna kill me over the blood.” Stiles commented, starting to gather their things.

“Why aren’t yours healing?” Scott asked, suddenly.

Laura shrugged, “An Alpha gave them to me.”

Scott’s brow furrowed, “Yeah, but—“

“No buts,” Laura said, “You were an Alpha when you gave them to me. Consider it nature’s way of making sure I don’t forget that. They’ll heal as the pack bond strengthens, when we start to feel more like a cohesive unit and less like two individual factions. If your pack rejects me as their Alpha entirely, yours will heal faster, and we’ll have to discuss this again. I think we’d both like to avoid that, so there’s gonna need to be a lot of bonding over the next couple days. I’d like not to go back to work looking like I’ve been assaulted, if it’s possible.”

Scott looked a little awed, and for the first time, felt a little better about this whole thing. Stiles’ arms were crossed over his chest, and he gave her one short nod before pulling Scott up by his elbow back towards the car.

“That could’ve gone worse,” Scott mumbled, collapsing against Stiles once they were out of hearing range.

Stiles hummed and took his weight easily. “I get it now. Watching you fight. I get why you couldn’t be Alpha anymore.”

Scott nodded, “Knew you would.”

Stiles got him situated in the car, and Scott was asleep before the engine had turned over.

**Erica**

The girls huddled around the fireplace at Stiles’ apartment. Danny had excused himself, he had to get Abby from his grandmother’s and take her to meet the new pack members. And that hadn’t gotten less weird to think about yet. New pack members.

The last order Erica had received from her Alpha was to stay with Allison until the deal was done, and so she was waiting. Lydia wasn’t ready to be alone just yet. The blonde thought she needed the comforting feeling of pack around her, even if it was just for a little while longer.

Ever since the meeting had started, Erica hadn’t been able to focus. There was too much going on. They were going to have a baby. She kept patting gently at Allison’s stomach, saying little things like, “We’re going to love you so much, little one,” and, “You’ve got the best mom, kid, you’re already so lucky.” She could barely believe it.

Lydia just sat, eyes alight in the fire, with an absent smile on her face, but the girls could tell she wasn’t all there. After a while, when things had gone quiet, Allison leaned forward, placed a hand on Lydia’s thigh and murmured, “Hey, what’s going on with you? All that stuff you were saying in the clearing?”

Lydia blinked twice, and snorted. “I’ve been having dreams about Laura Hale since college.”

Allison and Erica both stopped, staring at Lydia. “ _What?_ ” Allison choked out.

“I obviously didn’t know it was Laura Hale. But when I saw her in the clearing it was just like…I feel like I know everything about her already. I can’t figure it out.”

“Like, you’ve dreamed everything already?” Erica asked, but Lydia shook her head.

“No. No. Like, I saw her and _knew_. Like I knew she was holding back in the clearing. And she was just as surprised as Stiles in that clearing. She had no idea he didn’t know about his mother.  And I know she doesn’t really mean us any harm. And I know…” Lydia’s breath was starting to tremble. She took a deep breath.

“I just feel like I know her.”  She finished.

Allison hummed. “Maybe they know something about…what are you anyway? Psychic? Clairvoyant? Whatever. They seem to know more about magic than us in general. Maybe they can help you figure this stuff out?”

“Maybe.” Lydia said, noncommittal.

“But you don’t like it, though, do you?” Erica said, voice sharp.

Lydia turns to look at her. “It’s a change. None of us like it. We’ve fought long and hard for what we have here.”

“If none of us like it then why are we _doing_ it?!” Erica cried.

Lydia’s eyes went cold when she responded,  “Are you serious, Erica? Did you _see_ Scott?! Do you honestly think we had a choice? No, none of us like it. But it doesn’t matter. People are coming to _kill_ us. And Jackson’s gone, and Allison’s pregnant. Our odds are shit without Stiles’ magic under control, or my freaky psychic powers figured out. It’ll be a slaughter. You know that.”

Erica huffed, blonde curls bouncing as she crossed her arms and fell back against the couch cushions. “Do you feel good about any of them?”

“I know which one of them _you_ feel good about.” The redhead’s lips twitched up into a teasing smile.

Rolling her eyes, Erica bit her lip to avoid smiling in response.

“Shut up…”

Allison perked up at this new development. “Wait, is this a thing? Did I miss a thing? Who? What? _When_ ? They just got here! Damn girl, you work _fast_!”

Erica dropped her head into her hands, but when she came up she was blushing and laughing, “I hate you guys. Really, I do.”

“Lie. Now lay it all out for us, Blondie.” Lydia snarked, and Erica shrugged.

“It’s Boyd. I sort of attacked him earlier today.”

“You WHAT?!” Allison and Lydia cried in unison

“WHAT? It was after Stiles’ accident! I thought he’d like…ambushed him or something! We’re all on edge, alright? So I attacked him. And he kicked me into a tree.” Her eyes went dreamy at this.

Allison nearly knocked herself off the couch laughing. “ _That’s_ the part that’s got you all hot and bothered? He kicked you into a tree?”

Erica straightened, “Hey! Tonight I got an inside look at the sounds your husband wants you to make in _bed_! You have no rights to judge here.”

“I do!” Lydia tossed out, “and it is kind of weird that you’re turned on by violence.”

“You don’t! You’re already in some sort of weird psychic relationship with Laura Hale.”

Lydia scoffed. “Oh, come on Erica it’s not even like that.”

“It’s exactly like that. I have eyes. The whole night, if she wasn’t looking at Stiles like she’d kicked his fucking puppy, she was looking at you like the wanted you for a midnight snack.”

Lydia’s mouth dropped open at this observation, and Erica silently cheered herself for shutting the older woman up.

“She kinda was, actually.” Allison agreed, nodding. Then she turned to look at Erica, “Hey, what was that about, with Stiles, I mean?”

The whole mood in the room shifted. “I think it’s just...finding out something new about his mom, just kinda messed him up The whole thing was really weird. Stiles was in Derek’s head.” Erica said, slowly.

“In his head?” Allison didn’t sound like she believed it. Erica wouldn’t have either, if she hadn’t been there.

“Yeah, like…telepathy or whatever? He wouldn’t say anything about it on the ride back. Wouldn’t talk at all.”

“That’s why he didn’t want to take the deal.” Lydia breathed.

Erica slid from the couch onto the floor. Allison ran a soothing hand through her hair and she leaned into it.

“We have to do this, guys,” Allison’s voice was quiet and firm, hand clenching a little in Erica’s curls. “I’m so scared. I’m so stressed out. The pregnancy is…hard. There’s stuff I haven’t even told Scott. You’ve seen him, he’s already stretched so thin. And I don’t know how much longer I’m going to be able to hide how bad it is from him. I don’t know anything about this. And my family…and I’m just, I’m terrified all the time. And the doctor keeps saying the stress is making it worse but I don’t know how to stop. And then he’s stressed out because he feels that I’m stressed out.” She took a deep, shuddery breath. “It’s only going to get worse, with Scott, is my point. And we need help. We need answers. We can’t do this alone. We don’t have to trust her, but we can’t do it without her.”

Erica was at war with herself. She knew Allison was right, and that none of this was her fault, but it seemed like, again, what was good for the pack was going directly against what was good for _Stiles_. It happened so often. She thought about it sometimes, how he hadn’t been bitten, but his whole life had changed anyway, and he’d made the best of it. When was it their turn to give back to him? She hadn’t realized a low growl had started in her throat until Lydia snapped at her.

“Erica, now’s not the time.” She said, firmly.

Erica nodded. Then Lydia smiled at Allison. “It’s going to be fine. You’re right, we don’t have to trust them. We have to use them. Milk them for every piece of information they’ve got.  We’ll get you through this pregnancy, Alli, we will. And you’re going to be a great mom.” Allison blushed when Erica voiced her whole hearted agreement to that statement.

Immediately after, Erica’s eyes flashed. “It’s over. Scott’s not the Alpha anymore.”

Erica’s phone vibrated, and she pulled it out absently. It was a text from an unknown number that simply read:

 _1475 W Harper Street, if you want_.

She knew immediately who it was from, and she flushed. When she glanced up, two pairs of knowing eyes were already on her. “I shouldn’t, right?” She said, surprised when they both furrowed their brows at her.

“Of course you should! If you like each other, then why not?” Allison smiled. “It’s bound to be good for the merger, two members of separate packs being…together.” Lydia chuckled. The blonde nodded, all the sudden feeling a little conflicted. But not really dwelling on why.

“Are you guys good here?” She asked, and her two friends nodded. “Yeah, we’ll just hang out till the boys get back,” Lydia said, “I’ll probably crash here, I don’t really feel like being alone in my apartment right now.”

Erica smiled, hugged them both, and headed for the door.

She ran to Boyd’s. Her car was still in Stiles’ lot, but she didn’t want to drive feeling like this, weighed down and heavy. It had all turned into so much, so fast. The McCall pack (and it was fucking weird, thinking of them that way), had never been formal. They’d never had any real hierarchy, everything had just worked. Scott was Alpha. If Scott wasn’t around, you asked Allison or Stiles. They tended to agree on just about everything, but if they argued, Allison usually just went with whatever Stiles said. If Allison and Stiles were at a stalemate, you asked Lydia. If Lydia was out, she just went with her best judgment. Jackson and Danny would sometimes come to her if they couldn’t, or didn’t want to, ask anyone else. And, now that she thought about it, she guessed that was kind of a hierarchy, but it’d never needed to be talked about. They’d never discussed it and, though she’d often sensed that Jackson disliked that she was above him, no one had ever complained about it.

This bond, though, was stronger. She could feel it. More wolves made for a stronger pack bond, that made sense, but it was harder to find Scott in it. Just this overwhelming swell of Laura (who was in pain, which shouldn’t have made Erica happy, but it did). Stiles had always said she was more in touch with her animal side than most of them, which may have been true. It pleased her that her Alpha hadn’t gone down without a fight. The bond as it stood now, though, made her want to defer to the younger Hale, Derek. Her human and wolf sides were at odds with each other. She didn’t _know_ him. She didn’t trust him. She trusted Stiles. She was loyal to Stiles. Or, at least, she wanted to be.

It was all starting to come down on her, how much had really happened in the last few days. Allison was pregnant, and from a family of hunters. Stiles’ mom had been a magical pack human, Lydia was magical, Jackson was gone, Scott wasn’t Alpha anymore. Everything had turned so heavy and _real_. It wasn’t all fun and games anymore.

She ran herself hard and, werewolf stamina or no, she was out of breath by the time she reached the stairs of the house. Boyd was sitting on the front porch, a paperback book folded over one of his thick fingers. He rose when she stopped, walking to the edge of the porch stairs to meet her with an arched eyebrow and a smirk. She thought that looking at him, feeling that immediate rush of sexual attraction and _want_ would kill off everything else that was rolling around inside her. It didn’t, though. Somehow, it just made it worse. Lust and desire clouded and moved down through the mess of complications going on in her brain.

“Did you have a good run?” His voice broke over the sound of her panting. He held out a glass of water, and she stared at it for a moment too long.

“I can’t do this.”

“No?” His eyebrow raised even higher and she laughed.

“Not,” she said, reaching out and grabbing the glass and downing it, “I didn’t mean about the water, thanks” she smiled, “Or even about the sex,” Boyd snorted and her smile widened. “Just...no to all the serious shit, okay? This isn’t a relationship. No love. No soul bonds. No mates. No fucking babies. Just…can we just have sex? Is that okay?”

Boyd shrugged, took the empty glass from her hand, and set it down on the small table it’d come from. When he turned back to face her, he grinned, fangs extending slightly, “If that’s the way you want it, Goldilocks.”

He reached forward and grabbed her, arms scooping down to catch under her thighs, lifting her up until she wrapped her legs around him. His hands moved up to grip her ass as he walked them through the front door. She immediately nuzzled into his neck, nipping and biting at the salty skin she found there. He hummed in satisfaction. Slipping his earlobe between fanged teeth, she let her eyes roam around the hallways and arches of the house he’d brought her into.

“This can’t all be yours. Roommates?” She said, breathlessly, as he pushed her back against a wall and attacked her neck with equal fervor. She bared it to him, unusually aware of exactly what that meant, and moaned out when he sank his teeth into the skin between her neck and shoulder. “Pack house, he breathed.  “Nobody’s here, though.”

Pressed together like they were, she could feel his cock pressing up against her inner thigh, almost smell the arousal dripping from it. She whimpered a little and shifted, wanting closer, and more, and now. She fumbled with the hem of his shirt, letting out a pleased growl when he helped her pull it over her head. She realized, only then, that hers was partially ripped, the fabric between her neck and shoulder torn from where Boyd had bitten her. “Impatient,” he grumbled, picking her up again to carry them up the stairs.

As they walked, her eyes fell on his lips, thick and luscious and almost criminally vacant. Bringing her hands up to cup his face, she slotted their mouths together. He stopped their progression up the stairs and poured himself into the kiss. Shifting so that one broad forearm was holding her weight, he brought the other hand up to tangle in her hair, pulling her closer to him. Erica’s entire body felt like it was on fire. Her skin was all pins and needles, crying out and aching to be touched, kissed, licked, sucked. Her nipples were hard, insistent points under her clothes and, “Oh my God, why are either one of us still wearing _clothes?_ ” She mumbled against Body’s mouth. Then she raked slightly clawed hands down his naked back, delighting in his hiss of pleasure. “Almost, baby. Almost.” He told her, continuing their trek up the stairs.

They crashed through the first door they saw, tumbling onto the bed. Erica squeezed Boyd tight against her, legs still wrapped around his waist, clinging. Their tongues slid together and lit every inch of her on fire. When he pulled away, she whined and he laughed at her. Offended, she pushed at him, but he didn’t even budge. It sent a fresh wave of wetness to her core that he was so much bigger than her. That, even with her werewolf strength, he was so much stronger.

As he slid her out of her jeans and underwear, Erica began to notice that the room smelled wrong. “Who’s room are we in?” She chuckled up at him. He grunted. “Don’t worry about it,” and settled between her legs, making her shiver as he nipped and sucked at the creamy skin of her thighs.

It served as an excellent distraction, but Erica was starting to worry. “Who’s room is it?” She asked again, fearing that it was Laura’s. As much as part of her wanted to say fuck Laura Hale, this would be taking it a little too far.

Boyd slithered up and kissed all the thoughts out of her head, tongue plundering every corner of her mouth. “Isaac’s,” he told her, eyes laughing, when they came up for air. She laughed at this, head tilting back, “You’re such an asshole!” She giggled, and he grunted something that she couldn’t decipher because immediately after a thick, warm tongue swiped over her center and her back arched off the bed, hands scrabbling at the sheets.

Broad hands held her hips down to keep her from bucking and Boyd plundered her, tongue flicking over her clit in rapid motions, then dropping down to dip in and out of her, like the most wonderful torture she’d ever experienced in her life. So wet she didn’t know how he was breathing, she brought a hand down to run over his bald scalp, the other still fisted tightly in the sheets.

“Don’t claw them,” Boyd muttered on a breath, but she squeezed her thighs around his head. “No talking. I’m not gonna fucking—oh my god, do that again,” he did, and she keened pathetically, sparing a brief moment to wonder about the last time she felt this good.

Boyd pulled back and sucked a mark into her inner thigh. He grinned at it after. His eyes moved to hers, his face messy with her juices, and it shouldn’t have turned her on more but, “Come here,” she beckoned to him. He crawled up her body to press their mouths together again, growling with approval when she licked the remnants of herself off his mouth.

“You’re ridiculous.” He murmured.

She grinned and let her hand snaked down between them, thumbing that the button of his jeans until it was undone. He didn’t help. Propped up on one elbow, he let the other hand trail up and under her torn shirt, pulling down the cup of her bra so he could pinch and tweak a swollen nipple. “Ahh,” she shuddered under his ministrations, and he smiled wildly. “Like that, do we?”

She slid down his zipper and reached her hand in until it was wrapped around a surprisingly thick, warm cock. She pumped once and he grunted and bucked his hips up into her hand. “Hmmm, found something else I like,” she purred up at him. He worked an arm under her back and rolled them so that she was on top. She took the opportunity to work her way down his body to get his jeans and boxers off. “Damn…” she murmured when she finally got a look at him. His dick was gorgeous. Thick and curved and wet at the tip with excitement.

When she ran her tongue over it, he shivered. “Uh uh,” he moaned, “Get up here.” She complied quickly, scrambling up the bed and moving to straddle the man’s hips when he grabbed them to still her. She squirmed in his grip, but he held firm. “Condoms,” he gasped, and she stilled, “No babies, right?” His breath was ragged and harsh, and she grinned. _I did that_ , she thought. She leaned over to the bedside drawer and tore through it (“where the fuck are the condoms?” she growled, which earned her a shrug from Boyd, “not my room, remember?”) until she found what they needed.

She removed the latex from the foil packet and rolled it on to Boyd’s dick, squeezing it gently. Boyd growled out a purr above her, “That’s a good girl,” he murmured, and the sound it pulled out of her was _embarrassing_ , as she lowered herself inch by inch until he was fully seated inside her. She closed her eyes and swiveled her hips, trying to feel more. Boyd hissed below her and squeezed her a little tighter. “You planning on moving?” She retorted, but her breathlessness gave her away. He arched an eyebrow at her, but nodded and eased his grip on her.

The first thrust felt like her blood turning to lava, and after that, there was no thought left. She let him guide her hips as she lifted herself up and dropped down again, moaning over the incredible feeling of being filled. Boyd grunted beneath her, fingers flexing on her hips, reaching back to grip her ass firmly as they rocked together. The scent of their mixed arousals filled the room and made Erica’s mouth water. She wanted to taste him, them, their togetherness.

“Off,” Her lover demanded gruffly, tugging at the hem of her ruined shirt. She pulled it off quickly, unclasping her bra and tossing it across the room carelessly.

Boyd wrapped his arms around her back, pulling her in close as he sat up. He brought his hands around to play with her sensitive nipples as he suckled on the sensitive skin at her pulse.

“More,” she moaned out, “I need…” He didn’t let her finish, growling as he flipped them over. He pulled her hands over her head in a move that would’ve been violent if she wasn’t what and who she was. Wrists clasped together, he pulled her legs up over his and began thrusting into her ruthlessly. Every movement had her jerking back against the headboard.

She let her eyes slip closed under the ecstasy of it, back arching in an attempt to get closer, to take more of him. “Greedy,” Boyd huffed, breath coming ragged. She could smell the sweat beading on his skin, the same way she knew he could smell how close her orgasm was, tingling and burning under her skin.

He pulled her in faster and harder, eyes brightening and fangs elongating as he started to lose control. His thrusts came erratically she wrapped her hands around his forearms, squeezed with just a little bit of claw, begging. She was so close, _so close_.

She hadn’t noticed he’d moved until he’d bitten down hard into her shoulder. She came on a cry, spasming around him. He collapsed into her neck, breathing heavily as he managed a few more ragged thrusts, before stilling and letting out an almost pained moan.

He rolled off of her almost immediately, like he was scared she would break. They just breathed into the silence for a few moments, and Erica wondered what exactly she was supposed to do now.

“You’re welcome to stay,” Boyd said, reading her mind, “Seeing as you’re pack now and all.”

She hummed noncommittally, “I’ve gotta go get my car from Stiles’. And new clothes.” He nodded into the dark. “I could give you a ride, get you something of mine to wear?”

“Yeah, that’s probably good. And maybe we should get out of Isaac’s room?”

He chuckled and rolled himself out of the bed. She followed suit, picking up all the clothes of hers she could find and following Boyd as he padded gently into the last room on the left hand side of the spacious hallway.

Boyd’s bedroom felt right, smelled right. There was a huge overstuffed chair in the corner, that she immediately hopped into. She shimmied back into her panties while Boyd looked for a shirt. Finding one, he tossed it over his shoulder at her. It was an olive green t shirt that was going to look awful on her skin, she decided, pulling it over her head. “Eh,” she shrugged, “Better than nothing I guess.”

When she glanced up, Boyd’s eyes were intent on hers. “Looks good on you.” He said, earnestly, and she chuckled. “It doesn’t, but thank you.” He shook his head, not blinking. “No. It looks good.”

Something warm and terrifying coursed through the blonde’s veins the longer he looked at her that way. It settled low and hot in the pit of her stomach. She traced her tongue over suddenly dry lips, and tried not to sigh at the way Boyd’s eyes tracked the movement.

“So, how long till round two?” She asked, and he arched an eyebrow at her. “Thought you needed to leave?” She shrugged again, “I’ve got some time.” He grinned at her, and tilted his head towards the bed.

She kept his shirt on.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All I want for my birthday (Dec 24)/Christmas is comments/kudos on this fic lol 
> 
> I wish you and your family happy holidays


	7. Interlude: The Last Lark II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m noticing that you guys aren’t huge fans of the interludes? That sucks, but you should know that this is my favorite.

October 1969

“I think I’m drunk,” Brienne giggled, as she stumbled to a stop next to her sister.

“I’m sure you’re drunk,” Amalie replied, taking a sip of her own drink. The twins were huddled near a massive bonfire, stretching up high towards the sky. Amalie could feel the blush on her cheeks from the heat, echoing the warmth in her belly that the liquor caused.

It was her birthday and she was happy.

“There’s these guys,” Brienne started, and Amalie groaned.

“Noo! No guys, Bri, just this once, no guys.”

“It’s my birthday,” Brienne pouted. “My last lark, Melly! And I’ll get laid if I want to. Laiiidddd if I want to! Laiiiiddd if I want to!” she sang,

“No singing!” Amalie whined, and she thought she might be a little drunk herself. 

“Show me to your guys, just please no singing.”

“I think one of them is perfect for you. He’s really smart, Melly. And quiet. The fun one is mine, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Amalie responded amicably. Brienne’s definition of “fun” and hers had varied since they were small children.

The sand of the beach shifted under her feet, making everything unsteady. She and her sister giggled and stumbled in the direction of a green Volkswagen beetle.

“You can’t possibly want me to get in that creepy murder van,” Amalie balked, skidding to a stop.

Brienne continued to drag her. “Oh, come on! It’s not creepy on the inside. It’s super cool. There’s a blacklight and artwork and stuff that glows in the dark and shag carpet and one of those shiny room divider things. It’s like something out of a movie.”  They moved a little closer and Amalie scrunched up her nose.

“Oh my God. How much weed can two people even smoke?” She asked, choking on the thick smell of marijuana surrounding the van.

“Sooo much,” Brienne replied dreamily, still tugging at her sister's arm.

“You don’t have to, though. C’mon. It’ll be funnnnn.” She whined a little.

Amalie sighed. She knew she was going to give in, because she always did, but she liked to drag it out a bit; liked to make her sister suffer.

“Fine,” she huffed after a moment. “Into the creepy murder van we go.”

Brienne tugged open the door, and the girls crawled inside. She made introductions while crouched awkwardly.

“Melly, this is Tyler and Dylan,” she gestured before collapsing into Dylan’s lap. 

“Boys, this is my sister Amalie.”

“Pleasure,” she murmured, squeezing into a spot between Tyler and the wall. She wanted very much not to be touching him, but it wasn’t proving possible.

“Sorry,” he muttered, and tried to shift, but he was too big, and the van was too small.

“Leave it,” she sighed, and he did, though his shoulders sagged a bit.

“The boys are from America, Melly,” Brienne bubbled.

It took everything in Amalie not to roll her eyes. “I never would’ve guessed. Making your way through Dublin in your spare time, then?”

“We’re at Cambridge for a year abroad. Heard Ireland has the best Halloween celebration, so we made our way out here. Didn’t imagine we’d be running across such stunning French girls, though,” Dylan grinned wolfishly.

Now Amalie did roll her eyes, but Brienne just laughed. “Hey! You’re not supposed to be flirting with her. You’re supposed to be flirting with  _ me _ ,” she giggle, batting at Dylan’s arm.

“Ah, forgive me, sweetness. I was distracted by her beauty.” He leaned in and pecked Brienne on the lips, “I’ll try only to be distracted by yours.”

Brienne was a mess of flushes and giggles. 

“Kiss me again,” she demanded, and the boy did, wrapping an arm firmly around her waist and kissing her properly. The sound of their lips smacking together filled the van.

“Excellent.”  Amalie muttered.

Tyler tugged her by the wrist. “Up front,” he said quietly, and she nodded and crawled out behind him.

They settled in the front seat, the sounds of Brienne and Dylan still heavy behind them.

“Music,” Tyler grunted, fiddling with the radio. The opening strings of “Son of A Preacher Man” filled the car, and Amalie smiled.

“I like this song,” she sighed.

“Yeah?” Tyler asked, sounding hopeful. 

Amalie just nodded.

“So what are you two studying?” She asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

“European History. Hence…” he motioned around him, and Amalie nodded again.

“It’s a beautiful place, Europe.” She mused.

Now it was Tyler’s turn to nod. “Yeah. Complicated, too. Lots of wars,” he grinned, and she laughed a little.

Dusty Springfield faded away, making room for “Born to be Wild”, and Brienne shrieked from the back.

“Oh My Gosh, this music is  _ soooo gooood!”  _ She cried, before she was muffled by what Amalie assumed was Dylan’s mouth.

Tyler snorted, and pulled a joint from the glove box, waving it in Amalie’s direction. 

“You want?” He offered. She shook her head. “No thanks. I don’t, really…” she waved it off.

He chuckled a little. “What  _ do _ you do?” He asked, not unkindly.

Amalie shrugged. “Look after Bri, I guess.” It sounded pathetic when said out loud. At home she took care of the gardens, she excelled at languages in their lessons, she cooked. But here? On vacation? She did nothing.

“I’m supposed to die tonight! And Melly has to save me! Because we’re cursed!” Brienne chipped in, ever helpful.

“Cursed?” Tyler asked, eyebrow arching.

“We’re not cursed. It’s just some…some story our mom likes to tell.”

“And she’s supposed to die tonight?”

“She went to a fortune teller. Who she, of course, told all about the curse before she got the prediction.”

“Noo, Melly! I told her  _ after _ I swear!”

“You were very drunk, Bree.” Amalie reminded.

“I’m in the mood for a story,” Tyler prompted. The Foundations had just given way to BJ Thomas’ “Hooked on a Feeling,” and if she listened, she could hear Dylan’s rhythmic grunting.

She stopped listening.

“I’m not drunk enough of this,” she muttered, rifling in her bag for a flask.

Tyler’s eyes sparkled. “Ah, I guess there is something you do.” He said, admiration lacing his tone as she chugged brandy from the silver container.

“I’m French. Drinking is an art.” She replied easily, and he chuckled.

“I think that’s an European thing,” he smiled.

“Story!” Dylan called from the back, out of breath.

“Story!” Brienne parroted.

“You know the story!” Amalie blurted, before sighing.

“Our mom went to a party when she was 17, hit on the wrong guy, got cursed by his girlfriend. Apparently, until a son born of her blood pulls lightning from the heart of a wolf, she’ll be forced to live forever and everyone around her will die.”

“Harsh,” Tyler winced.

“Extraordinarily.” Amalie replied, sipping a bit more from the flask.

“When she came home from the party, her father was dead. She was forced to marry our father—“

“Not  _ forced _ !” Brienne cried out in offense. “They loved each other!”

“It was an arranged marriage is the point. She had a series of miscarriages, and it strained our parents relationship. She found out he was cheating with the neighbor, and threw herself off the tower.”

“Tower? You guys have a tower? Jesus, how rich are French people?” Dylan piped up, but Tyler waved him off.

“When she came to, she found out she was pregnant with us, and that our father had died in a bar fight. Killed by his mistress’ husband.”

Tyler whistled low. “Sounds pretty cursed to me.” He said.

“There’s no such thing as curses,” Amalie said, eyes hard. “There’s no such thing as magic.”

Later, when it was clear that Brienne and Dylan weren’t separating any time soon, Amalie started to fidget.

“D’you want me to walk you somewhere?” Tyler offered. “I’d probably like to get away from here as much as you do.”

She nodded, and they both climbed out of the van, stumbling down the beach under the influence of their respective substances.

“Our hotel’s not far,” she said, nodding her head over the ridge. Tyler nodded, walking along with her. California Girls was playing somewhere in the distance, and he nodded his head along with it. Their hands brushed together .

“You’re really very pretty,” he murmured, stroking her hand with purpose. “I know you don’t want to do anything. But I just thought I should tell you.”

Her cheeks went hot without her permission, and she didn’t move her hand away from his.

“I, uh, thank you.”

She knew she was pretty. Knew it, because Brienne was, everyone always said how pretty Brienne was, and they were identical twins. But people didn’t very often say it to her.

“Have you ever…with anyone?” He asked innocently, linking their pinkies together as they walked.

She smiled and shook her head, not daring to meet his eyes.

The street around them had gone quiet, Dublin’s All Hallow’s Eve Celebration dying down.

“Well, I hope you find whatever you’re waiting for.

She nodded again, slowly drawing her hand away.

“We’re here,” she said, motioning to the stately building in front of them.

It surprised a laugh out of Tyler. “This is not a hostel. This is a  _ hotel _ .”

“That’s what I said,” Amalie frowned.

“No! No, it’s not, but it’s fine. It was a pleasure meeting you, Amalie.”

She liked the way her name sounded in his mouth, she thought absently.

“You too, Tyler.”

He turned to walk away, and she watched, wondering if she should call out after him, invite him up. But that might send a signal that she was ready for something she wasn’t ready for, and she had no desire to lead him on.

Her hand still tingled from where he’d touched it.

The wind picked up, and he shoved his hands in his pockets, hunching his shoulders against the cold.

She took a step towards the door, biting her nail nervously, but turned back to look at him, only to find him looking at her.

He must’ve seen the indecision on her face, because he smiled at her. “Don’t worry about me,” he said. “Goodnight.”

He started walking again, turned a corner and disappeared from sight.

Amalie sighed, supposing that was the end of that. She made her way up to the room, collapsing on the completely unnecessary four poster bed she was sharing with her sister.  

She glanced at the clock. 3:17 am.

The alcohol was making her syrupy and slow, now that it wasn’t offset by nerves, or cold. She let it take her over, buzzing through her skin, and as she dozed off she thought to herself, it had been a good night.

She awoke slightly when the bed shifted, her sister cuddling in beside her.

“D’you have fun?” She slurred, and she felt Bree nod into her shoulder.

“I really like him,” she giggled.

Amalie murmured something in response, falling asleep again quickly.

\---

Something was scratching at her arm. She came awake slowly, irritated, scratching at whatever was brushing up against her. She couldn’t get it off. It clung, like a hand, thick and dry around her bicep. Brienne was still asleep against her shoulder, hair brushing into her neck, and Amalie tried to shove at her.

“Bree, move,” she grunted, eyes still closed. It was too early. It felt too early.

The body beside her stayed still.

“Stupid, hungover,” she muttered , opening her eyes.

What greeted her tore a scream from her lungs.

\---

Her scream had called the housekeeper, who’d screamed herself, before passing out on the floor.  _ Her _ scream called the manager, who called an ambulance, and the paramedics called the police.

Amalie was numb.

The paramedics had pried Brienne’s cold, dead hand from around her arm, and moved her across the room as though she was something fragile. They’d placed a shock blanket over her shoulders and settled her down on a couch.

“The police will have questions,” one of the medics had told her, face a mask of sympathy.

“I don’t…what can I tell them?” She’d asked, but no one had been listening.

When the police did arrive, they didn’t speak to her for quite a while, too busy comparing notes with the paramedics. Amalie caught bits and pieces of the conversation. Dehydrated, she heard. Decomposing.

“Must’ve been there for weeks.”

“Weeks?!” She cried, hysterical. “She can’t have been there for weeks, we flew in on Thursday!”

This drew the officer's’ attention to her. One of them, tall and blonde, came and crouched down in front of her.

“Do you know what day it is, ma’am?” He said, very slowly. His eyes were very, very blue. Jaw pointed. It was a nice face, she realized dimly. Brienne would already be flirting.

She thought she might be sick.

“It’s Saturday. It’s Saturday, November 1 st , 1969. We turned eighteen yesterday, it’s why we’re here. We flew, from Orly, on Thursday morning.”

He nodded, jotting something down on his notepad, brow furrowed in confusion.

“How long has she been in that bed?” He asked.

“What time is it?” 

He glanced at his wrist watch. “11:27 in the morning, ma’am,”

“Less than twelve hours.”

“That’s..Ms. Baptiste that’s not possible.”

“I got back here at quarter past three. We’d been at a bonfire on the beach. Breestayed longer than me. I don’t know what time it was when she came to bed. But it couldn’t have been before 3:15.”

“Do you have any idea how long it takes a body to decompose this way?”

“It doesn’t matter, does it?” Amalie snapped. “Because I’m sure it takes longer than the two days we’ve been here. You’ll do your research, you’ll find that we flew in  _ Thursday _ , that we checked into the hotel Thursday. You’ll find that any number of people will remember Brienne being alive on Thursday.”

He narrowed his eyes. “And yesterday?”

“Yes,” Amalie sighed, exhausted. “And yesterday. We slept in. Went shopping. Had a massage. Went to dinner. Ended up at the bonfire. Brienne made friends, it’s what she does. There were these guys, Dylan and Tyler, we hung out with them for a while, in their van. Tyler walked me back here, Bree and Dylan stayed together a bit longer. Again, I don’t know when she came to bed, but she obviously did, as this is where she was found.”

The officer handed her a stiff, white, business card. “We’ll have more questions, ma’am. Please don’t leave town. The hotel will move you to a new room, where you’re welcome to stay until we’ve concluded our investigation.”

Amalie nodded, and he rose and returned to his partner, frowning over the information they’d been given.

The manager escorted her to the new room, promising to bring her belongings as soon as the police were done with the room. She waved him off, weary, and rushed to the phone to call her mother.

“Hello?” Valencia answered the phone quickly, voice laced with distress.

“Mama,” Amalie broke down into hysteric sobs, and Valencia just shushed her, crying quietly herself.

“Brienne?” she finally asked, and Amalie hiccupped.

“She’s gone, Mama. I don’t know how, I don’t know what happened. They’re saying it looks like she’s been dead for weeks but that’s not possible.”

“It’s the curse.” Valencia spat, and Amalie laughed helplessly.

“Mama, there’s no such thing as curses.” She sighed.

“Well what’s your explanation then, Amalie?”

And the young woman realized she really didn’t have one. Brienne’s death was inexplicable.

“Someone must’ve done this to her,” she murmured. Her mother laughed without humor.

“Decomposed her body while she was laying in bed with you? How would someone have done that, Melly?” She asked, and Amalie shook her head.

‘I don’t know, but I plan on finding out.”

“Amalie, don’t do anything rash. Can you come home?”

“No, not until the investigation’s closed.” Amalie sighed, scrubbing her hands over her face.

“Would you like me to come out there?”

“No, mother. I don’t want you coming to Ireland, bothering the police about curses and such while they try to investigate Bri’s murder.”

“They won’t find anything, Melly. You understand that, don’t you? You’ll be lucky if they don’t end up suspecting  _ you _ .”

“I’ll be fine, mama.”

“Nothing rash, Amalie.”

“Mother,” she smiled, eyes sad, “when have I ever done anything rash?”

\---

The tall, blonde officer from the hotel found her stomping down the boulevard, seeking out Brienne’s fortune teller from the night before.

“Ms. Baptiste,” he called from the car window, and she stopped to glare at him. “I was just looking for you. Seems you and your sister  _ did _ fly in from Paris on Thursday.”

She scoffed and crossed her arms over her chest. “Yes. Turns out I am interested in seeing my sister’s murder solved.”

He blanched. “Murder? Ms. Baptiste,”

“Amalie.” She cut him off. “Ms. Baptiste makes me feel old.”

He nodded. “Amalie,” he tried again, gently, “your sister’s death has been ruled natural causes. There’s no evidence to suggest she was killed.” He said.

“No evidence!” Amalie shouted, drawing the attention of people wandering down the road. The officer winced and threw the car into park, getting out to cross over to her.

“Quiet down,” he murmured, looking around.

“No evidence!” She repeated in a harsh whisper. “what about the fact that it looks like she’s been laying there for weeks?! Is that not evidence enough of foul play?”

“It’s curious, I’ll admit. But this is Ireland, ma’am. Stranger things have happened.”

“My sister turned eighteen years old yesterday, and then died in her bed this morning. I intend to find out why. If your superiors are lazy enough to accept ‘stranger things have happened’, well, I weep for those you’re tasked to serve and protect,” she spat, turning on her heel and storming off.

The officer followed her. “How exactly do you plan on figuring it out?” he asked.

“I plan to visit the fortune teller Brienne saw last night. The one who told her she was going to die.”

“You didn’t mention that before.”

“You didn’t ask.”

She breezed easily into the door of the shop and stopped dead.

The air was thick. Amalie expected it to smell like something, but it was just heavy, humid. The room was dark, only candles lighting it. There were drapes hanging all through the shop, sectioning off the space into small rooms.

“Amalie,” a tall brunette woman said, shocking her back into awareness. She noticed the waiflike blonde sitting at the table, knuckles white.  

“S-sorry to interrupt” she sputtered at the confused customer.

“It’s fine dear,” the psychic said, looking back. “Alice and I were just finishing.”

The blonde nodded, scurrying out of the building, almost running into the police officer on his way in.  

The officer looked after her, confused, but continued into the room, flashing his badge. “M’names officer Michael McLoughlin, ma’am. This is Amalie Baptiste. We have business needs to be discussed.”

The fortune teller’s eyes turned to Amalie.

“My name is Elise, by the way.” She smiled. “If you’re here, I assume Brienne has passed on?”

Michael sputtered, and Amalie grinned up at him with satisfaction. “Ma’am, we need to know how you could possibly know that.” He coughed, trying to remain professional.

Elise only smiled at him. “Why, my dear, I’m clairvoyant.”

“Predict something about me, then,” he challenged, and she smiled.

“Your mother, bless her, will outlive you.” She said easily, and Michael scoffed.

“My mother will outlive us all,” he muttered.

“Do you only predict death?” Amalie asked, arms crossed over her chest.

“You will have a child. And she will terrify you, the same way your sister’s death terrifies you. The same way your father’s death terrified your mother. She will be inexplicable.”

“She told you that stupid story!” Amalie exploded. “She told you that stupid story and you told her she was going to die and then she did, somehow! And I want to know why!”

“You know why, dear.” Elise insisted.

“It's not  _ real _ !” The girl cried, all the sudden feeling so very young. “There’s no such thing as magic, or curses, or bloody psychics!”

Fat, hot tears rolled down her cheeks and she felt Michael’s arm come around her, drawing her into his chest.

“I think that’s quite enough for now,” he muttered, and Amalie could hear the glare in his voice.

“It’s possible you’ll hear from the station, ma’am. We might need an official statement.”

Elise nodded, but her eyes stayed on Amalie. “The curse is real, whether or not you choose to accept it. The power surrounding your sister was strong, and, without her, it seems the power around you has only grown stronger. Nothing will stop it, Amalie. It will come to fruition.”

Amalie’s head snapped up. “Fruition? But that’s…lightning from a wolf?” She shook her head. “That’s impossible.”

Elise smiled. “it seems your life was meant to be full of impossible things, dear.”

\---

Amalie sniffled her way to recovery in the passenger seat of a police cruiser, while Michael sat quietly, fiddling with his watch.

When her breathing had steadied, he cleared his throat.

“A curse?” He asked, and she rolled her eyes.

“Not you too. It’s nothing.”

“Does it, by any chance, predict that your sister would die last night?”

“ _ No _ . It predicts everyone close to my mother will die. She’s the cursed one. But it doesn’t say when or how or how long they’ve got. It’s nothing so specific.”

“Your family line is cursed,” he repeated slowly. Amalie huffed and nodded.

“And you came to Ireland?”

“There’s no such  _ thing _ as curses!”

Now it was his turn to sigh. “You don’t believe in magic. Your family is cursed. You came to Ireland.” He chuckled a little, “and your sister died in a completely impossible way, though it seems you’re going to tear the whole Bay apart trying to explain it anyway.”

“There’s no such thing as-“

“There  _ is,”  _ he growled, serious, and she turned to face him.

“My mother’s got the gift. Grandmother before her. They pray to the old Gods. They adhere to the old orders and in return, magic. I’ll bring you to my mum if you’d like. She’d be glad to demonstrate, she’s a massive show off.”

“I want another officer on my case,” Amalie muttered.

“Case?! Amalie, there is no case! Your sister died of completely natural causes. The state of her body is strange, yes, but not strange enough to launch any sort of investigation. The fact that you flew in Thursday only proves that  _ you _ didn’t kill her and stow her in your room for two weeks.”

There were tears gathering behind her eyes again, so she closed them, tilted her head back against the seat and just breathed.

“Look,” Michael sighed. “I know a bit about grief, and loss. And I know sometimes, even if you know nothing will come of it, you need to get to the bottom of the rabbit hole. She was your sister. Your  _ twin _ . I don’t expect you to say goodbye without a fight. So I’ll help you. Any questions you need answered, I’ll flash a badge, scare people into talking to you. If that’s what you need.”

She nodded, eyes still closed.

The car rumbled to life. “Alright, then,” he said, sounding resolved. “Where to next?”

“The beach,” she replied.

\---

Dylan and Tyler’s van wasn’t there when they got there.

“Good thing, too,” Michael groused, “It’s illegal to park down here.”

There were still a few people asleep on the beach, some tents set up, All You Need is Love drifting from someone’s stereo.

As they got closer to where the van had been, though, Michael’s brow furrowed. “No tracks,” he murmured. “You sure it was here they were parked?”

“Yes,” Amalie nodded, gesturing to the stone ring where the bonfire had been raised. “I was sitting there. Breecame, fetched me, we walked over here.”

She veered away from him, to some girls sitting on a washed up log near the water.

“Excuse me,” she asked kindly, “have you seen Tyler or Dylan?”

The girls looked confused and shook their heads.

“They’re the guys who were in the green van that was parked here?” She asked, waving to the area where the van had been.

“There hasn’t been a van there.” One of the girls said, and Amalie choked.

“It would’ve been really late last night,” she tried, voice sounding thin, “A green beetle?”

They shrugged again.

She walked back over to Michael.

“They say there hasn’t been a van here.”

“I told you, no tracks,” he said easily.

“And you’re fine with this, too, I imagine? The fact that I very clearly recall meeting to young men from America studying abroad at Cambridge who came to Dublin for Halloween? Listening to Dusty Springfield to mask the sound of my sister having sex in the back? Telling the stupid story of that stupid curse again?”

“Your sister didn’t have sex last night.” Michael blurted, and Amalie stared up at him, incredulous.

“What?”

“They ran a test. There’s no evidence that she had sex last night. There was pot in her system, and alcohol, but no sign of anything sexual happening.”

“So I made it all up?”

“I believe you saw it.” He said, earnestly. And Amalie was starting to feel like she was going to puke.

“Magic, then.” She said, and he nodded.

“I think…”  she started, voice shaking. “I think maybe I’d like to meet your mother.”

\---

Ivy McLoughlin tsked at her the moment she walked through the door.

“There’s a powerful magic working over your life, dear,” she said, and Amalie’s eyes widened.

“She’s cursed, mum,” Michael said, as though it was nothing, pushing her the rest of the way through the door and closing it behind him.

The older woman nodded, “Yes. That would explain it. Now come here, wayward son of mine, and let me look at you.”

“I was here Sunday, mum. That can hardly be considered ‘wayward’.”

She crossed her arms and waited.

Amalie got the pleasure of watching this hulk of a man drag his feet the whole way across his mother’s living room and into her arms, where she clucked and cooed over him.

“You’re not getting enough sleep,” she chastised. “Those bags under your eyes get worse and worse every time I see you. I’ll not stand for it. Get your  _ rest,  _ Michael.”

“Yes, mum,” he whined, long suffering.

Amalie felt a pang in her heart.

“I have to call my mother,” she blurted, and two heads turned towards her.

“Well, of course, dear,” Ivy smiled, “phone’s on the wall in the kitchen.” She gestured to an archway behind her, leading into a charming looking room with yellow walls and white tile floors.

“It’s long distance,” Amalie winced.

“Well I suppose we can make do just this once,” Ivy shrugged.

On her way into the kitchen, Amalie took in what she could of the house. It didn’t look magical, she decided, not that she knew what a magical house would look like. It also did not look like this woman could afford for her to sit on the phone with her mother as long as she’d like to. That, she knew quite a bit about. She vowed to herself to be brief.

Valencia, of course, was having none of it.

“You must tell me everything. Melly, dear, I told you not to do anything rash!”

“It wasn’t rash, Mama. I just went to visit a psychic is all.”

“And now this policeman and his mother have managed to convince you that the curse is real, despite all the evidence already existing in your life?”

“I’ve not been convinced of anything, yet, Mama,” Amalie stressed. “I’d just…things here are rather strange. And Michael’s been very kind to indulge me this far. He said she could demonstrate. I’m definitely interested in that. Seeing is believing and all.”

Valencia hummed. “Well, stay careful. Stay safe. Remember to return to the hotel, so that I can talk to you longer. And call me if you need me to wire you any more money.”

“Yes, Mama,” Amalie sighed.

“You may be a woman in the eyes of the world now, Amalie, but you are still my daughter. My only daughter,” she said, the makings of a sob welling up in her throat.

Amalie stood there, phone clenched tight in her fist, and listened to her mother cry for her lost daughter. She cursed herself for how long the conversation had gotten, vowed that she would repay Ivy somehow, but she couldn’t bear to leave her mother alone in this moment.

“Listen to me, blubbering like some old woman. You’ve got a magic demonstration to see. I’ll want to hear all about it later, yes?” Valencia said, finally, voice rough from her tears.

Amalie nodded. “Yes, mama.”

“I love you, little one.”

“You too, Mama.”

When she finally hung up the phone, she realized it was all quiet in the front room. Creeping back out, she saw Michael and his mother sitting, she in a rather plush looking armchair, and he on the couch. They paused when she entered, Michael’s mouth still half hung open as though he’d been in the middle of a word.

“French is such a beautiful language,” Ivy said immediately, voice almost gratingly chipper. “You speak English so well I wouldn’t have guessed.”

“I speak Spanish and Polish as well,” Amalie nodded, because she didn’t know what else to say.

Ivy clapped her hands with glee. “Oh, how delightful. A linguist! Michael, why didn’t you tell me she was a linguist?”

“I didn’t know,” he responded, eyes still on Amalie.

“Could you,” Amalie started, clearing her throat, “could you show me magic?”

Ivy nodded, “Yes, m’dear, I can. My skill is mostly in plants,” she smiled to herself, like some sort of joke had been told, “if you’ll follow me outside, I believe I can give you quite a show.”

They trailed through the house, the three of them, and stepped out of the back door into the most beautiful garden Amalie had ever seen in her life.

“This is…” she gasped. “We have gardens, at my home in France, and staff to tend to them, but they’re nothing like this.”

“Gardens and staff,” Ivy murmured, tenderly stroking the petal of some small yellow flower, “it sounds like quite the charmed life you’re to return to, dear.”

Amalie was expecting a trace of cruelty. She’d realized very young that people without money were often envious of people with it. But Ivy’s words sounded genuine.

“Yes, very, if you discount that my mother is sick with worry that I’ll die before giving birth to a child, and force her to live forever. If you discount the fact that I’m starting to share her fear, which I’ve been convinced was paranoia my whole life. I can’t tell if I’m making some massive discovery today, or going well and truly mad.”

Ivy smiled at her, “Well now, who says you can’t have a little of both?”

And before Amalie can respond with how absurd that sounds, the older woman has raised her arms up to the sky, and the small yellow flower she’s been stroking is rising up, up, up, with it.

“That’s not…” Amalie murmured.

“Don’t say possible,” Michael whispered into her ear, and when had he gotten that close? “It makes her cross.”

“It’s amazing,” Amalie revised, ever respectful. Ivy rewarded her with a blinding grin.

“The magic likes you,” she said, “It wants you to see.”

“I’ve never…this is amazing.” She turned her head to Michael, “Can you…?”

He shook his head, a rueful smile on his face. “No, the men in my family have never had the knack for it, but the women…” He gestured back to his mother. She’d brought the flower back down to it’s normal size and was still stroking it, talking to it gently.

“So we’re really cursed,” Amalie breathed out into the garden, like an epiphany.

Ivy nodded immediately, “yes, m’dear. Strongly and solidly cursed.”

“Is there nothing I can do?” She asked.

Ivy hummed. “It’s hard to say. Does the curse predict when or how you’ll die?”

Amalie shook her head.

“So, as far as you know, you’ll live a full, happy life?”

“No, probably not. With Bree gone, I’ll probably live just long enough to have a child. Someone has to keep the line going,” she murmured.

“Why?”

“The curse calls for a son. A son, born of my mother’s line, is the only one who can break it. Everyone else will die. Except my mother. She’ll live forever, alone, until the curse is broken.”

“I can’t guarantee that the magic can preserve you, especially since it seems the curse can take hold at any time.”

“But you’re not certain the magic  _ won’t _ preserve me?”

“No. It does seem rather taken with you. Michael, didn’t you tell me she had a vision of two boys in a van on the beach last night?”

He nodded.

“That is…quite an indication.”

“An indication of what?”

“That the magic is calling you to stay here.”

“Then I will. I’ll stay here. I mean, not here, obviously, I couldn’t impose. But if I’ve magic protecting me here, there’s no sense in going back.”

“What about your family? Your mother?” Michael asked.

“She’ll understand,” Amalie said, easily. “if I’ve found some way to stave off the curse, even if only for a little while… Well, I’m sure she’d rather have a daughter alive in Dublin than a daughter dead and buried in France.”

Ivy and Michael both nodded. It was a valid point.

\---

“Magic,” her mother repeated, sounding far less believing than Amalie had thought she would.

“I saw it with my own eyes, mother.” Amalie nodded, though Valencia couldn’t see her.

“And you think it will protect you?”

“I think it might protect me, which is more of a chance than I’ve got anywhere else.”

Valencia sighed. “Is there…is there a boy, Melly? I know that you’ve never been much interested in them, but if there is, you could tell me, you know.”

“It’s not a boy, Mama,” she said, but she did cut her eyes over at Michael, who was making sandwiches at the counter. He caught her eye and smiled at her. She returned it, though she could feel the heat rising to her cheeks.

“Well I’ll have to come down and meet these people who’ve convinced you the curse is real after all this time,” her mother huffed.

“Yes, of course! Ivy would love to meet you, I’m sure?”

“And the boy, Michael?”

“He’s not a  _ boy _ , Mama. He’s a grown man. A police officer. He doesn’t even live here.”

“Too old for you, then?” Valencia asked, and Amalie could hear the mischief in her voice.

“I have no idea how old he is,” Amalie sniffed in reply.

“So we can’t yet rule him out?”

“I’m glad you’re in such a good mood, Mama, but I can’t stay long on the phone. This isn’t my hotel, they’re paying for this.”

“Yes, yes, I understand. I’ll make arrangements to come down shortly, make sure your schooling is in order and procure you a place to live. In the meantime, stay at the hotel. As much as I don’t want you away from me, I think you’re right about magic. I want you to have your best chance, Amalie.”

“I know, Mama.”

She hung up the phone a bit later, only to find Ivy waiting for her in the living room, a bouquet of yellow flowers held tight in her fist.

“Michael will take you back to your hotel now, but I wanted you to have these. A kind of welcome gift,”

Amalie took them with great care. “Thank you,” she smiled.

She and Michael rode in silence, which he didn’t break until they’d pulled up to the hotel.

“I’m 23.” He said, and she looked at him with wide eyes.

He shrugged. “I took French in high school. Not enough to decipher your whole conversation. But you were talking about a boy, a police officer, and his age. So I assumed…”

“young, for the police,” amalie murmured, face hot with embarrassment.

“Not so much. There’s younger,” he replied easily. “Have a good night, Amalie.”

“You too, Michael.”

Valencia came down two days later, and claimed Brienne’s body. She was cremated, and they spread her ashes out over the sea. Amalie felt settled, as though Brienne would’ve liked the send off.

Ivy and Valencia got along like a house on fire. It was terrifying. Once Valencia had gotten a look at magic, at real magic, she was just as thrilled and determined as Amalie. Ireland was their chance.

“I can’t stay for too much longer,” her mother whispered into her hair one afternoon. They’d just procured the cottage in which Amalie was to live, and they were curled together on a small white couch they’d gotten from town, basking in the sunlight.

Amalie turned to look at her. “You’ve only just gotten here.”

“Yes but,” Valencia sighed. “I  _ like _ these people, Melly. And that puts them at risk. It’s the people close to me that’re tasked to die. And I don’t know that I could bear it if…” she trailed off, eyes going wet.

“Aunt Flora drowned in the bathtub the day before I flew here.”

“Mother,” Amalie said carefully, “no. You mustn't think that way. Flora was old.”

“She was also one of my closest friends. And Donna, the house cook, her body was found in the Seine. That’s hours away from the house, Melly. There’s no way to explain how she got there.”

“I…this can’t all be…” Amalie sputtered.

“It is. You know better than this by now. It is the curse. Why do you think I’m so keen to send you off half the world away from me?”

“It’s hardly half the world, mother.”

“Naivety isn’t a good look on you, dear.” Valencia said patiently.

“When do you leave?”

“Tomorrow morning.”

Amalie nodded. “Alright.”

She snuggled into her mother’s chest, where she felt safe, and soaked up all the time with her that she could.

\--

Her mother had been gone for two weeks, and Amalie considered herself mostly settled. The cottage her mother had rented was two doors down from Ivy’s so she wouldn’t be alone, and they had dinner together on Tuesdays. She’d started up her studies again at a small university in the city and, while she wasn’t exactly making friends, it was good to be out.

She still felt like she was half missing without Brienne.

Which is how she found herself panicked at midnight on a Wednesday, phone clutched to her ear and ringing.

“H’lo?” Michael slurred on the other line, obviously still asleep.

“I’ve woken you. I’m terribly sorry, it’s just that…”

“French, Melly. You’re speaking rapid fire French right now. What’s wrong?” She heard the rustling of him sitting up.

“There’s a…this is silly, this is so silly and I’m sorry. But there’s a very large rat in the kitchen, and I don’t-“

She was cut off by an incredulous bark of laughter. “You’re scared of a mouse?” He asked, and Amalie’s eyes narrowed.

“It’s not a mouse, I’ll have you know. It’s a  _ rat _ , and it’s  _ massive _ . And it’s not that I’m  _ scared _ per se, as much as I have no idea what to do. I’ve never handled these things before. Insects and woodland creature were more Brienne’s forte. They were kind to her.”

“Is the mouse not being kind to you, Mel?” he chuckled.

“ _ Rat _ . And no, it isn’t, thank you very much. All Breeever had to say was ‘go on now, little guy’, and they’d scurry off just as quick as you please. But this thing just  _ hissed _ at me when I tried it.”

“You could always just use a broom like a normal person,” Michael suggested, but Amalie could already hear the jangle of his keys in his hand as he walked.

“Getting to the broom would involve going  _ around _ the rat.” She told him sheepishly.

“Around the…are you telling me an animal has you cornered in your own house at midnight?”

“I’m not cornered! I could go back into my bedroom but then I wouldn’t be able to see it anymore and God knows where it could end up. And I’ve only just gotten the furniture in, Michael, what if it chews through something?” She whined.

“You’d replace it with your buckets and buckets of money.”

“Oh, yes, just because my mother’s wealthy I’m supposed to be perfectly fine with  _ rats _ chewing through my furniture. I’d forgotten that was in the rich people’s rule book. Thank you ever so much for the reminder. I’d be lost, utterly lost without you, Michael McLoughlin.”

“I could go back home and leave you to your rat friend.”

“I could call Ivy and tell her you left me in my hour of need.”

He sighed heavily. “The front door’s locked, anyway. And I doubt you’ll be taking your eyes off the rat to come open it?” He shook the door handle fruitlessly.

“C’mon round back then,” she spat, hanging up the phone.

The rat busied itself by nibbling at the  cheese she’d thrown at it in a panic. It’s head shot up as Michael came in through the back door.

“You’re feeding the damn thing?” He asked, eyebrow arching.

“I didn’t know what to do! I Just wanted it to like me so it’d leave me in peace!”

“That’s….that doesn’t make  _ any _ sense, Amalie.”

“I realize that  _ now _ , but what was I supposed to do? Take the cheese  _ away _ ?” 

Michael sighed and let go of the back door. When it slammed behind him, a gust of wind went through the cottage and Amalie was reminded of several things at once.

All the was wearing were her underwear and a large tshirt.

The shirt happened to be Michael’s.

The cold air made her nipples pebble, until they were clearly visible through the shirt.

The rat was moving.

“Michael!” she screamed, only to look up and see the older man’s eyes glued to her chest.

He snapped back quickly, grabbing the broom from a closet near the back door and chasing after the thing, cursing all the way.

It was comical to watch, and she found herself equal parts amused and terrified as man and beast scurried through the house.

Eventually, though, the rat was bested, and thrown outside.

“Now he’s just going to chew through my garden,” she lamented, and Michael scoffed.

“Go to bed, Mel. You have classes early. I’ll straighten up out here.”

He wouldn’t look at her, and she supposed that was for the best. For her…propriety and all.

“Thank you, Michael. Goodnight,” she said softly, before excusing herself back into her bedroom and shutting the door behind her.

Her alarms went off just a few hours later, and she blearily trekked into the kitchen to start coffee.

She stopped a few steps outside her door.

Michael was sprawled out on her couch, shirtless, wearing only the most threadbare pair of grey sweatpants.

The sun was shining into his face, his brow furrowed just the slightest bit, muscular arms crossed over broad chest.

And he was much too tall for the couch, feet hanging over the side.

“Michael,” she whispered fiercely, and then immediately thought better of it. She wasn’t at all dressed for male company.

His eyes came open slowly, though, and he blinked a few times before pushing a hand up, over his face, through his hair, and sitting up.

“Morning,” he grunted at her. His voice was muffled as he buried his face in his hands.

And she should go back into her bedroom, grab a robe, or better yet, some pants. That was the ladylike thing to do. The safe thing.

But it was Michael, and she didn’t have any doubts that she was safe regardless, so instead she scoffed and crossed the living room into the kitchen to start the coffee.

“What’re you even doing here?” She called out over her shoulder while fiddling with the machine.

“Didn’t feel like driving home,” he said, still grunting and unmoved.

Once the coffee was brewing, she set to making omelettes.

She’d just gotten her egg mixture into the pan when he came stumbling into the kitchen.

“coffee?”

“In the pot.”

“Breakfast?”

“Little while longer.”

“You’re an angel,”

“And you’re my hero.”

A beat.

“Mel?”

His voice sounded heavy. Significant. And she was grateful that she had to mind the eggs, that she had an excuse not to turn and look at him.

“Hmm?”

“Is it often that you wear my shirt to bed?”

“I…um…occasionally.” She answered honestly. It wasn’t sexual, or even romantic. It was just a very comfortable shirt. But now, with the two of them standing in her kitchen, bathed in early morning light, it felt like it mattered.

“I…you look really good.” He murmured.

Her thanks got stuck in her throat.

She begged off to get dressed while he finished breakfast, and when she came out of her room, presentable at last, he was gone.

But something had changed between them, she knew. Things would be different now.

\--

They weren’t different. Well, they were, but not different in the way she wanted them to be. They danced around each other now, awkward and stilted, always afraid to say or do the wrong thing.

The months melted away, winter coming with its storms and fury. Lightning lit up the bay some nights, and blacked out her tiny cottage.

Michael would come and sit with her when it got dark, tend her fire while she lit candles throughout the house. On the cold nights, they’d bundle up close to each other for the warmth. Only the warmth, of course. They didn’t talk about it.

In spring, he helped her plant vegetables in the garden. It was very serious work, yet somehow it devolved into the two of them throwing dirt at each other, playing a filthy game of tag in her yard. And if, when he finally caught her and tackled her down, they stayed too close to each other for too long, there was no one around to know. They celebrated his birthday in May, and after he’d blown out his candles and made his wish, he looked at her like it hurt him. They didn’t talk about it.

Summer flooded Ireland, hot and sticky. Michael stopped wearing shirts and Amalie bought a small wading pool. Ivy grew the shade trees large in her backyard but they couldn’t fight the humidity. Every touch between them grew slick with sweat and Amalie couldn’t help but imagine them sweating for another reason. She found herself growing sticky between her thighs at night, swathed in nothing but Michael’s t shirts, breasts straining against the fabric. Sometimes she squeezed a cold pillow between her thighs, moved against it until she shuddered and gasped, always thinking of Michael. They didn’t talk about it.

In fall, there was an itch under Amalie’s skin. A need for something. A week before her birthday, she found herself outside of Elise’s shop. It was warm inside, and dim. It took 

Amalie’s eyes a moment to adjust to the light.  A bell tinkled as she stepped inside, but Elise was already there, sitting at the table, eyes intent on her crystal ball.

“Come, Amalie. Sit. I’ve been expecting you.” She said, with a warm smile on her face. 

Amalie did sit, staring across at the other woman. “I don’t know why I’m here.” She admitted, and Elise smiled.

“You’re here because you’re lost and in need of guidance.” Elisa said simply. Amalie frowned.

“I’m not…I know what I’m doing. I go to school. When I’m finished I’ll get a job, probably teaching, I’ll settle down, I’ll live my life.”

“Will you really? You won’t be too afraid to include someone else in your life for fear that the curse will kill them too?”

Amalie’s eyes went wide. “Is that what happens? Do I marry someone and they die?”

“I don’t know, Amalie. That’s not exactly how it works.”

“Well how does it work then?” Amalie growled, frustration spilling over. “Do you need to focus into your crystal ball? Do you need to contact the spirits? What?”

Elise sighed, and held out her hand. “May I?” She asked, as though she was talking to a small child.

Nervous, Amalie reached out and clasped her hand.

There was a moment where it was completely silent. It didn’t even seem as though Elise was breathing, and Amalie’s own breath was stalled in sympathy. The psychic’s eyes were glassy and faraway. And Amalie found herself afraid, not for the first time, of what waited in her future.

Elise let go of her hand suddenly, and Amalie tensed, but there was a small smile playing about the other woman’s lips.

“Oh, child,” she said indulgently. “You have so much happiness ahead of you. A marriage, a child, a family, and all so soon.”

“Soon?” Amalie choked out. She was only eighteen. Soon to be nineteen. She couldn’t imagine having a child soon.

“Your long term future is difficult for me to see, because of the curse. But many things happen to you in the next year. And you’ll be happy for all of them.”

\--

That night, Michael found his way into the cottage just as Amalie was finishing her makeup.

“What on Earth are you doing?” He asked, blinking at her reflection in the mirror. She’d straightened her hair.

“I’m going to the pub.” She responded easily, fiddling with a tube of mascara.

“Wh…why would you be doing that?”

“I went to see Elise today,” she told him, turning around to look at him properly, “And she told me I’m to be married within the year. The year, Michael. And I don’t even  _ know _ anyone here but you. So,” she stood, smoothing down her dress. “I suppose it’s time I go meet some people.”

“The psychic told you to do all this so you could catch a husband?”

“Of course not, the psychic told me that I’d be married in a year. I’m just…widening my pool of potential husbands, I suppose. It’s all math if you think about it.”

“Melly,”

“What? I have to  _ do _ something. I have to be proactive about my future. I can’t just stand around and wait for this curse to take me.”

‘You’re only eighteen, Mel.”

“I’ll be nineteen next Saturday. And who cares anyway? Love waits for no one and all that.”

“So you don’t think you’re too young to be married?”

“No, not at all,” she said. And he nodded once, sharply.

“I had thought you’d want to wait. Until you were older. Finished with your studies at least?”

“What’s being married got to do with my studies? It’s not as if I’d ever marry the type of man to keep me locked up like some sort of pet.”

He was looking at the ground, brow furrowed, as though his words weren’t coming out the way he liked them. “I just…I just thought that. There are a lot of girls- women- who’d want to wait. I should’ve asked, I suppose.”

He looked up at her, and their whole last year together was in his eyes. All the things they hadn’t talked about hung heavy in the room with them.

“Amalie…I, if you’d have me, I’d be honored to take you as my wife?” He asked awkwardly, swaying as though he wasn’t sure if he should drop to his knee or not.

“I…you can’t possibly…you want to marry me?”

“Melly I’ve probably been in love with you since the first time I brought you to my mothers. I just…you’re so  _ young _ . And I didn’t want to rob you of a life. I told myself I could wait until you were ready to settle down. But if it’s a husband you’re after…”

“I…” a laugh bubbled out of her, uninhibited and happy. “You love me, and you want to marry me.”

Michael nodded seriously.

“Then yes. Yes, I’d be thrilled to marry you.”

\-----

Claudia Elizabeth McLoughlin was born in the height of September, 1971. Ivy took one look at her and declared she’d change the world.

For Amalie, she already had. 


	8. Ch 4: Vision

Lydia:

Her phone rang early. The sky outside was still gray, only a few birds chirping. 

Blinking, she realized she wasn’t in her bed. At some point the night before, she must’ve fallen asleep on Stiles’ couch. A blanket had been thrown over her, the beautiful purple cashmere she’d bought as a hint that Stiles should change the atrocious color scheme in his living room.

He hadn’t.

But he kept the blanket in his hall closet and only pulled it out when she came over.

Her phone buzzed again, rattling against the dark wood of Stiles’ end table.

She reached for it, heart skipping as she read the display:

Jackson.

Had it only been yesterday that he’d turned her whole world upside down? She had time to think before she answered.

“Is everything alright?” She asked quietly. Stiles slept like a cop, jolting awake at the slightest disturbance. Last night had been long, and he needed his rest.

‘Were you cheating on me?” Jackson sputtered, and Lydia found herself sitting up.

‘What?”

“Were you…I mean did you ever…cheat?” He asked again. It didn’t sound any less ridiculous the second time.

“No. Jackson why would I have?  _ How _ would I have without you knowing?” A beat. “What’s really going on right now?”

Jackson sighed. “I met the Alpha this morning.”

“Laura?”

“She was waiting at my front door. Offered to drive me to the airport. Insisted, really.”

“Laura drove you to the airport.” Lydia repeated. She had the sinking feeling there was something she was missing.

“Yeah. She congratulated me on the job, gave me some numbers for contacts in London, pack and professional. She was really helpful.” He grumbled this last, like he hated it. And he really probably did, Lydia thought.

“Okay?” She asked, upset that she was behind the point.

“She smelled like she belonged to you.” Jackson growled.

And Lydia, she paused. “I’ve never touched her,” she said carefully.

“No, not like. She doesn’t smell…it’s hard to explain I guess,”

“Try?”

“Your clothes smell like you. You touch them all day, you know, they’re kind of saturated in you. She didn’t smell like that. She smelled like…your purse, maybe? Like, your purse smells like whatever's in it, but at the bottom it smells like you. You don’t touch it all the time, but you’ve touched everything in it enough that the scent carries.”

They sat in silence.

“I didn’t know she smelled like that.” Lydia started.

Jackson snorted. “Well,  _ she _ did.”

And, “what do you mean?”

“Like I said, she was really helpful, but she was smug about it. Said something before she drove off about one man’s trash being another’s treasure. She…it’s wolf stuff I guess. But she knows what she smells like. That’s why she offered me a ride, locked up in her car with her smelling like that? It was deliberate.”

“I didn’t know though. I’ve never touched her.” Lydia repeated, even though she was furious. Laura had no right.

“I sense a but,”

Lydia sighed. “You know how I said you’re not in any of the dreams?”

“Yes.”

“She’s in some of them. She’s in, a lot of them.”

“She’s your mate, then.” Jackson said, and he sounded like he was nodding, like it was  _ settled _ and that was just unacceptable.

“She’s not,” She snapped, or, she meant to snap, but it came out strained.

“You can have your private freak out about it later, but she is. And now think of the lovely upper hand you’ll have when she tells you.” Jackson laughed.

“You’re my best friend, you know,” Lydia whispered.

“And you’re mine,” he responded, just as soft. “I’m scared, Lyddie.” He only ever called her that in bed, early in the morning like it was now. It was fitting.

“I’ve never done anything without you.” He finished.

“Then it’s high time, don’t you think?” She responded, and it was easy. This was the easy part. Jackson didn't need to be coddled, he just needed to be told.

‘My flights boarding,” He said, and Lydia could hear the shuffle of people moving around in the background.

“Text me when you land,” she said. He hummed in response. 

“I love you.” He said quickly, like he wasn’t supposed to. 

“I love you too.” She smiled. 

The call disconnected and Lydia looked at her phone for awhile before laying back down.

The gray of the sky was giving over to blue, tinged with orange at the bottom. The birds were awake in earnest now, laughing and playing outside of Stiles’ windows.

Lydia couldn’t settle.

Rising, she headed back towards Stiles room, knocking gently before pushing the door open.

“Lyds? What’s wrong?” He asked blearily, half asleep and still ready for attack.

“Nothing’s wrong. I’m gonna head home and shower. I’ll meet you at the address you sent later.”

Stiles made a sound similar to agreement and buried his head back into his pillows.

Smiling, Lydia let herself out.

Everything in her world had changed. Jackson was on a plane to London, gone forever. The pack was merged, the Alpha no longer the Alpha.

It was strange, she thought, with everything that’d happened, that the drive home was the same. Her muscles moved almost unbidden, past the flower shop and the vet’s office. Left turn on Elm, past the Sheriff’s station and Beacon Hill’s single tattoo parlor, where Erica worked. A mile down Elm to Green, where the Stilinski’s lived. A mile more to her apartment.

She felt like her key shouldn’t turn in the lock the same, that her apartment shouldn’t look the same when so much of the world was different.

Calling into work was easy. She wasn’t tenured, but she taught summer sessions so she had the vacation time. Firing off an email to her students was easy. Class wasn’t cancelled, her teacher's aide was competent, and Lydia’s lesson plans where extensive and detailed. They’d be fine without her for a day or two.

She spent too long in the shower, water too hot. It helped though. When she was finished, she felt clean; fresh and ready for a new start.

In front of her closet, she hesitated. What does one wear to magic training? She needed to feel competent, but also comfortable, and warm. It hardly ever snowed in Beacon Hills, but a December chill made warm clothes prudent.

She decided on neutrals, black leggings with a oversized olive green sweater and sturdy beige boots. She pulled her hair up off her face, piling it into a high bun, and decided against any makeup.

It was good, she thought, nodding at herself in the mirror. Without makeup, she looked a bit more like a college student than a college professor, but that was fine. She didn’t want to look intimidating today. This was a merger. She needed to seem warm, inviting.

_ For your mate _ , Jackson sneered in her head, and Lydia sighed.

She knew that Laura was important, to that pack and to her. But mates…It was such a strong word for the wolves. It held so much power.

More power still, she thought, lay with  _ Alpha _ mates. Allison had been mother, mentor, sister and friend to all of them for so long and Lydia wasn’t sure she could do that. She was a mathematician, a strategist, a teacher. A friend, sure, but she was an awful shoulder to cry on. She tended towards fixing the problem rather than commiserating over it.

Thoughts erratic, she grabbed her coat from the closet near the front door and headed out to start the day.

It was still early when Lydia glided into the coffee shop off Third and Main, in desperate need of a Chai and a blueberry scone. It was horrible for her diet, but she was sad and angry and she didn’t very much care.

She should’ve known it would be complicated, to finally meet the person she’d been dreaming of for so long. Of course it couldn’t be simple. When had anything in her life been simple? And normally, she was fine with complicated, she loved a puzzle. But right now she wished it wasn’t. That it could just happen, like it seemed to in the dreams.

“Good morning. Can I take your order?” The young man at the counter asked her. 

“Yes, I’ll have a medium chai tea and…how long have the scones been out?” She asked, narrowing her eyes at the selection. “Actually,” the young man smiled, and she glanced down at his name tag,  _ Alex _ , “those came out about fifteen minutes ago.” She nodded once, 

“Perfect. I’ll take one of those as well.”  _ Alex _ hummed in acknowledgement and started ringing it all into the register.

She’d stopped browsing the pastry counter and was just watching the young man move around. He reminded her of a younger Stiles, she mused, all long limbs and awkward grace. She must’ve chuckled, because he glanced up at her, meeting her eyes for the first time, and she saw it. He was laid, sprawled out on the forest floor, stomach shredded, blood pooling under him, eyes dead.  _ Laura _ , she thought instantly. The eyes reminded Lydia of Laura.

_ Red eyes bleeding to hazel; from alive to lifeless. _

Alex tilted his head in question, and the redhead shook herself out of the vision. He rattled off her total and she handed him a twenty because it was the first thing she pulled out of her wallet.  

They’re fingers brushed and she gasped, something cold and foreign snaking through her at the point of contact. The younger man snatched his hand back as his brow furrowed with concern. “Are you okay?” He asked, and Lydia shook her head and plastered on a smile. “ Fine. 

Just a little jumpy today I guess.” He nodded and went about counting out her change.

Realizing that she had to take a chance, she ventured, “Are you? Okay?” He glanced up at her, and she could tell he was trying desperately not to show that he thought she was crazy. Lydia had perfected that look. He grinned at her, but it was tight, fake and forced. “Yes, ma’am. I’m fine.”

She didn’t know if she was scoffing at being called “ma’am”, or the fact that he was obviously telling the truth. This boy was going to  _ die _ , she’d seen it. And she couldn’t think of any reasonable way to save him, without making herself look like a complete idiot in a coffee shop she was part owner of.

She gathered her change up, sorting it back into her wallet with care.

“There’s been some attacks, in the woods, you know?” She said, still digging through her bag, not meeting his eyes. 

“Animal attacks, but nobody can seem to find what it is. You should be careful, if you hike.” She finished, looking up at him.

The boy’s eyes were wide, then they narrowed, sharply, his face twisting up into a sneer.

“I’m always careful, but I know my way around animals,” he responded, voice still tight.

Lydia didn’t like the sound of it, she opened her mouth to say more but was interrupted by the buzz of her phone.

From: Stilinski

Did you plan on coming to super secret magic training today?

She rolled her eyes, but realized that it had gotten later than she planned. Looking back up at Alex, she decided there wasn’t enough time to complete her investigation. She took a step back from the counter, but made sure her face stayed pleasant. “Any chance I could get my tea?” She asked, and he scrambled to make it for her.

She hastily sent back a text to Stiles, telling him she was on her way. The longer she stayed in the coffee shop, dealing with this kid who was not quite telling the truth, the faster she wanted to get there. Get to Deaton and figure out what the hell was going on with her.

Tea in hand, she sailed out of the shop with all the grace she’d sailed in with, and headed back on her way.

Isaac:

His room smelled like Boyd, and sex, and that blonde, McCall pack beta.

_ You should probably start thinking of it as one pack _ , he thought to himself, but it was much harder than he thought it’d be. Derek and Laura and Boyd had been all he’d known for years, and everything he’d known before that he was still actively trying to forget. So, while he was excited to get to know new wolves, and to learn about all the other impossible magic in the world, the idea of expanding his circle to new people still made him very wary.

Also, no level of excitement endeared him to the fact that his room smelled like Boyd, and sex, and that blonde, McCall pack beta.

“What am I supposed to do with that? I feel so…violated,” he complained to Laura, and she nodded in understanding.

“I need somebody to do a protection run around the McCall house today, while Scott is at Deaton’s with me. Allison is human, and pregnant, and I don’t want to leave her alone. Think you can handle it?”

She said it with a twinkle in her eye, and he smiled as he saw it for what it really was, an excuse to get out of the house.

He nodded. “Do I need to tell her I’m doing it?”

She chuckled at that. “Yes. I’m sure they’re used to protection runs, but they don’t really know us yet, and we haven’t exactly had time to exchange numbers. If she needs help with something, she should know someone’s there to help her.”

Isaac sighed and nodded again, turning to leave. His nose wrinkled up as he passed his bedroom again.

Scott and Allison’s house was a sprawling, multilevel farm house about fifteen minutes outside of Beacon Hills. The road that led into and out of town split the area, one side was the preserve, the other side was farm area. Isaac looked up at it in awe, thinking that this is what an Alpha’s house should look like. Protected, away from the public eye. Room to rest, room to play, room to  _ run _ . He was already half in love.

The Hale pack wolves, Laura told him, had always been called to the preserve. Stiles’ apartment was only across the street from the main preserve entrance, the stilinski house backed to it. But this, this open space and peace and quiet, this sang out home to Isaac. He was worried though, about the absence of a tree line for cover, the way he could see, far off, the ragged fence that separated the McCall land from the neighbors.

Isaac drove up to the garage in an old Toyota they’d salvaged when they’d gotten to town, parking in front of the cheery yellow two story, with a perfectly manicured lawn out front. He could imagine Scott out mowing it on sunny days, Allison drinking lemonade on the porch. The two of them were disturbingly perfect.

Getting out, he jogged up the stairs to the wide, wraparound porch and rang the bell. He could hear rustling coming from inside before Allison showed up at the door, hair in a messy bun and smile radiant.

“Hi!” She said, face covered in pleasant surprise. “Isaac, right? What can I do for you? Do you want to come in?”

Isaac was taken aback. Boyd was quiet, and Derek and Laura were assholes, so it wasn’t often he spoke to someone who was this immediately inviting.

“I’m..uh, yeah. Isaac. That’s me. I don’t need anything I just…Laura sent me, to do a security run around the house until Scott gets back? So, I wanted to let you know. In case you needed anything. I won’t be out of shouting distance. Also,” he stammered, running a nervous hand over the back of his neck, “that’s my car in front of your house. In case, you know, you were wondering.”

“Oh! That’s so kind of you! Are you, like…shifting? Fully? It’s okay to, if you want. I know, we’re not on the tree line, but it’s a lot of land, and the neighbors think we foster some rare breed of dog, so you’re clear. You can leave your clothes in the shed in the back, if you are. Scott does it all the time. And you can come through the back door in full form, there’s a doggy door, if you get thirsty or hungry or anything. It’s up to you.”

Isaac tried to contain his shock. “You’re, uh, you’re pretty prepared.” He managed. Allison laughed at him.

“I’m the wife of the Alpha. Or,” her brows furrowed adorably, “he used to be the Alpha. Anyway, I’ve been playing pack mom for years. If you need it, I’ve probably got it.” She smiled.

He was helpless to do anything but smile back at her. “Well, I’ll let you know if I need anything. And you, let me know if you need anything, okay?”

“Sure.” She beamed at him.

“And Isaac?” She called as he turned to walk away, he glanced over his shoulder at her. 

“Thanks for coming.”

She closed the door then, and he thought, her maybe. He could consider her pack without much trouble.

\-----

Lydia:

“You can’t be serious.” She flatly, sitting in an overstuffed armchair in Alan Deaton’s home. Her Chai had gone cold, but was still in her hand as she stared at the older man and tried to make sense of what he’d told her.

Laura was hovering on a bar stool near the kitchen. Ever since she’d arrived, she’d been noticing the Alpha, and the Alpha had been noticing her back. Lydia was certain that she smelled furious, because she was. But, as much as she wanted to lash out, the merger was still new, and she was still representing Scott. It was far beneath Lydia Martin to throw a temper tantrum. She wouldn’t disappoint her Alpha.

But that didn’t stop her from turning up her nose at Laura at every possible opportunity.

“Clairvoyant. I can’t imagine you hadn’t drawn that conclusion yourself,” Deaton continued, not unkindly.

“So I came all the way down here just for you to tell me something I already knew.” Lydia responded, keeping her voice even, but she arched an eyebrow to show her disbelief. Laura stifled a chuckle and something in Lydia  _ tugged _ , like she needed to get closer to the sound.

She stayed perfectly still, though, clutching her tea tighter.

“No. You came all the way down here so I could teach you how to control it, to hone it. You’re obviously very powerful. That the dreams started so young, that you experience them every night, that you have waking visions. These are all signs of advanced clairvoyance..”

Lydia hummed. “It’s been stronger lately. A few of my dreams have come to fruition in the last day or so. Any idea why that is?”

Deaton brightened. “Well, that’s the interesting part. Clairvoyant’s have a stage that’s similar to puberty. It can be activated by significant events such as Mrs. McCall’s pregnancy, or the merger, or the upcoming battle itself. Despite your extraordinary gifts, I think you’re just now reaching that pubescent stage of your power. Once you get through it, once you’ve settled, I imagine there’ll be no limits to what you can see.”

Lydia glanced around, wondering where Stiles was. Her mind was a million miles away. She’d have to get together with him sometime after this. They needed to do independent research. Who knew how much of what the  _ vet _ was saying was reliable.

“I’m curious,” Deaton continued, ‘What is the last vision in your dreams? What’s the last thing you see?”

_ No _ . The voice sounded in her head. No accompanying vision. She’d never had a dream for this moment. But she knew, without a doubt, that she shouldn’t tell him.

“I don’t want to say,” she responded honestly. The older man nodded.

“It’s common for unsettled clairvoyance to be very protective of their final vision. Only tell those you trust implicitly. And even then, only if they ask,” he told her, face somehow more serious than it had been before. She nodded.

She started to tap her foot against the ground, anxious. She felt antsy and restless. It felt like she needed to  _ do _ something, but she couldn’t put her finger on what.

Deaton was still talking, but she’d tuned him out. Which was rude, and unproductive. She wanted the information he had to give her. She shook her head to clear it.

“How do you feel right now?” Deaton asked, seeming to sense her shift in mood, but Lydia wasn’t looking at him anymore. She set her Chai down on the small end table next to the chair.

“I don’t  _ know _ . Something feels wrong.” She said, trying to keep the low level of distress out of her voice. All the sudden the space felt too big, like she’d been tethered to something a moment ago, but the string had been cut.

“Is it me?” Deaton asked, gently, “Do you feel like I’m too close to you?”

Lydia shook her head. “No. No, it’s not you. It’s…” she rose, pacing back and forth in front of her chair. Scott and Stiles moved back into the room, and Lydia felt something in her insides settle a little.

“That’s better,” she breathed. “It’s not right yet, but it’s better. It feels right knowing where everyone is. Is that normal for what I am?” She asked, looking back at Deaton. A crease formed between his brows and he shook his head. “Nothing that I’ve read implies a clairvoyant would be territorial, or protective that way. It’s nothing I’ve ever seen before.”

“I have,” Scott murmured, and Laura nodded, frowning. “So have I.”

She rose from her stool and walked over to Lydia slowly.

“Is this alright, Red?” Laura asked, still moving slowly. The room hadn’t seemed so big before she’d had to cross it at a snail’s pace.

“ _ You _ don’t come anywhere near me,” Lydia hissed, pointing her finger, and Laura froze. The whole room froze.

“You had no right to do what you did this morning,” The redhead seethed, voice shaking with anger.

Laura let her eyes bleed red. “As the Alpha of the territory, I had every right. Scott would’ve escorted him as well.”

“But that’s not why you did it, is it? You didn’t go  _ just _ as the Alpha of the territory. Did you, Laura?”

And werewolves couldn’t lie. Not even alphas, so Laura just shook her head.

Lydia rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. “You’re petty. And childish. It was an unnecessary abuse of your power. So Alpha or no, you had no  _ right _ to treat my  _ boyfriend _ —“

Laura loosed a loud growl, “Ex boyfriend.”

Dimly, Lydia was aware that Derek had crept into the room.

“And you think that means something for you?” she sneered.

“You know  _ exactly _ what it means for me,” Laura cried, moving quickly into Lydia’s space.

“Ladies!” Deaton’s reprimand was sharp, causing both women to jump and turn.

“ _ Relationship  _ issues aside,” he continued, brow furrowed, “Lydia, do you feel any different now that Laura’s standing there?”

Lydia froze, she looked up, saw Deaton still sitting in the armchair across from hers, Stiles and Scott hovering in the doorway. She knew, somehow, that Erica was still asleep with Boyd, and Isaac was running patrols around Scott and Allison’s house. Abby was deeply involved in a game of hide and seek with her grandmother. They all seemed content.

“What’s going on?” She breathed, nervous for the first time.

Scott murmured, “Holy shit,” and Laura locked eyes with him and nodded.

“ _What’s_ _going on?_ ” Lydia asked again, more firmly, and Laura sighed.

“I’m sorry, Red. I really am. Doctor Deaton can probably explain it better than me.”

“Don’t call me that! What’s  _ happening? _ ” Lydia asked, gaze focuses on Dr. Deaton now.

“You don’t feel as restless, now that Laura is standing there?” Deaton asked, sounding slightly amazed.

“Well, I know where they all are now. Except for Danny. He should be at work though, I’ll send him a—“ she stopped with her hand hallway to her phone.

“Why am I sending ‘just checking in’ texts like Allison?” She asked, voice edging on hysterical.

“The last thing that could activate a clairvoyant,” Deaton explained patiently, “Is the presence of her Mate.”

“An Alpha’s Mate can share in a little on the pack bond, but usually only when she’s in close proximity to the Alpha. Which is why if I’m gone…” Scott supplied.

“Allison sends a lot of texts,” Lydia finished, feeling a little numb.  

“Holy shit,” Stiles piped up from his spot next to Scott.

“What’s wrong?” Derek frowned,  looking around between them all. 

“I’m not sure,” Stiles responded immediately, “But I think Lydia’s your sister’s mate. Which is just…spectacularly fucked up.”

“Why?” Derek asked.

“ _ Why? _ They don’t even  _ like _ each other.”

“Stiles,” Lydia barked, “stop talking.”

“Actually, Stiles,” Deaton began, “I’d like it if you would accompany Derek to the yard. I have some exercises I’d like you to try. To test your abilities. Scott, you’ve got some literature you need to get reading. I’ll set you up in the study.”

“What am I supposed to do?” Lydia asked, trying not to look at Laura.

“I have some literature for you as well. As well as some meditative exercises. Unfortunately, an unsettled clairvoyant will always have unpredictable visions.” He paused.

“However, I believe the more pressing matter at hand is the attachment you two are forming. It’s going to be rather difficult for you to focus on honing your skills until you’ve mastered the ins and outs of this bond.”

“I don’t,” Lydia spluttered, “I don’t want to be  _ bonded _ to her!”

Deaton gave an ambivalent shrug and left the room, guiding Scott towards the study. Stiles and Derek headed out through the back door, bickering still.

Laura took a minute step away from Lydia, that the younger woman felt to her very core.

She hated it.

“Like I said,” Laura murmured, looking every inch the kicked puppy, “Sorry, Red.”

**Laura**

“Is there any way to turn it off?” Lydia asked, breaking the quiet that had fallen over the room. Laura held back her wince. Her wolf was whining at being so blatantly rejected by her mate. Outwardly, she just shrugged.

“We don’t have to do anything. We don’t have to be anything if you don’t want. You got pretty agitated, though, before. I think you might need the proximity. Don’t know how often yet, but we can figure that out as we go.”

Lydia’s eyes narrowed. “And what about you? Are you going to need anything?”

Laura shrugged again. “I’ll figure it out.”

They were quiet for a moment, both standing in the middle of the room, unsure of what to do. Something was nagging at Laura’s mind, though, so she broke their silence.

“You knew,” she murmured, and Lydia shrugged.

“How could you possibly know?” The Alpha asked again.

“Clairvoyant, remember?”

“Lie.”

“Jackson told me, this morning. He said you knew too.”

Laura nodded. “Of course I did.”

“Were you planning on saying anything?”

“Immediately? No. Of course not. We just had a merger. Your boyfriend of however many years was  _ still in town. _ I figured I’d…get to know you? Get to know the pack. Let the dust settle a little before starting something like this.”

“How’d you know?” Lydia asked.

“You smell like you belong to me, and you confuse my instincts.”

“How?” Lydia asked, suddenly curious. She sat back down in the armchair she’d been in before, and Laura took Deaton’s spot on the couch.

“Most people, most humans anyway, come off as prey. They submit naturally, it’s a subconscious thing when they meet me, even if they don’t know what I am. But you? You knowingly looked an Alpha in the face and said ‘Spit it out, Hale’. You’re amazing. It’s a challenge, but not in an unattractive way.”

Lydia looked pleased, but Laura could sense her confusion. “What’s wrong?” She asked, without thinking, and Lydia sighed.

“It was always too much, for Jackson. I was always  _ too _ much of a challenge. It upset him. It’s why we never…” she made a complicated gesture with her hands that Laura didn’t think she should’ve understood as well as she did. It’s why they’d never mated, why he could never fully claim her.

“You were made for an Alpha,” she said simply, and Lydia froze as the implications of that washed over her.

“So what do we do now?” She asked quietly, and Laura offered her a smile.

“Your ability is an incredible asset to the pack. I don’t want whatever is going on with us to cloud that at all. For now, if you need me around, I’ll be around, and if you don’t, I’ll make myself scarce, okay?”

Lydia shook her head. Laura sighed, feeling lost as to how to handle it. “How is that not okay, Red?” She asked, a little frustrated.

“Don’t call me that,” Lydia responded, almost absently, “I feel like we’re not taking your instincts into account. I don’t want that to bite us in the butt later.”

“I can control myself,” Laura snapped, and Lydia tsked at her. “I’m sure you can. But you’ve thrown this Argent mess in our laps, and I’m not gonna have you distracted because you’re busy trying to control instincts that I can help you with. Your abilities are an asset too. So,” she smiled, brilliantly, “spit it out, Hale.”

Laura growled, even though she wasn’t angry, but frustrated. Lydia didn’t seem to mind, arching an eyebrow at her and waiting.

“I want to buy you dinner. And touch you, probably a lot. I want you to smell like me. And I want to call you Red.” The Alpha snapped eventually, and Lydia nodded.

“Dinner works.” She responded coolly.

“What about the rest of it?” Laura asked, not allowing herself to feel hopeful. The redhead just shrugged. “We’ll figure it out as we go, I guess.”

And that seemed like all either of them could do for the moment.

Stiles:

“Mating for wolves is beautiful,” Derek huffed defensively, and Stiles rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, you catch the scent of someone you like and you just keep them forever. I understand how that could be enjoyable. It’s lazy as shit.”

Derek threw his hands up. “Scott and Allison are mated! You can’t possibly hate it as much as you say.”

“Scott and Allison are different,” Stiles scoffed, laying out in the grass on his back.  “They’ve been together since before Scott was bitten. They’re  _ soulmates _ . They transcend the hands of time and supernatural forces and all that other lovey dovey crap. Laura and Lydia have known each other for five minutes. Lydia’s just coming out of a long term relationship. It’s not healthy is all I’m saying.”

Derek sat down on the steps, watching Stiles. “Well what do you think she’s gonna do? Drag Lydia into a room and keep her there for life? Obviously they have to get to know each other, and Laura has to prove she’s worthy—“

“Prove she’s worthy? That doesn’t sound like some medieval shit to you?”

“It  _ sounds _ like—“

“Gentlemen!” Deaton cut off their argument, strolling out into the yard.  Derek moved slightly to let him over. He walked out into the grass and stood above Stiles. The younger man squinted and put a hand up to shield his eyes.

“So, what’re we doing today, Doc?”

“You seem very confident,” Deaton said, arching an eyebrow. Stiles shrugged. “It’s either gonna work or it’s not. So, let’s get this show on the road.”

Deaton chuckled. “No show, Mr. Stilinski. From what I’ve heard, your magic only manifests in high pressure situations. I’d like to see how nature reacts to you when you’re at rest.”

“It doesn’t,” Stiles said.

“Because you’ve been paying so much attention?” The other man asked, cocking his head.

Stiles nodded. “Fair point. Do I need to be in like, a meditative position or something?”

“Do you meditate?”

Stiles laughed. “No. Not at all.”

“Then just lay there, be still.”

“What do you want me to do?” Derek piped up. Deaton glanced over at him.

“I need you to watch. See if anything changes while Stiles is relaxing. If you see the trees or plants behaving abnormally. If the wind picks up or anything out of the ordinary happens.”

All the sudden, a gust of wind blows through, clanging the wind chimes prettily.

“Like that?” Derek asked. Stiles eyes were closed against the sun, but his lips curled up in a smile.

“That wasn’t me!” He called out, and Derek snorted. “Yeah it was.”

Stiles rolled, propping himself on an elbow to get a better look at Derek. “How do you figure?”

“Smelled like you. Ozone and tangerines.” Derek said, shrugging. Stiles laughed and laid back down. “Cheater.” He murmured.

They sat in silence for a while, Stiles content to bask in the sun and let his mind wander. He ran his hand through the grass, occasionally plucking a strand here and there.

“I didn’t know you knew how to be quiet,” Derek said after a while.

“Well, you don’t really know anything about me, do you?” Stiles responded, eyes still closed.

“No. I guess not.” Derek mused. Stiles heard his deep inhale. “I know you don’t like Laura, though. And I know you used to like Lydia a lot. Is that why…is that why their mating bothers you so much?”

“We still talking about this? Lydia is pack. I’m always going to be concerned about her wellbeing. And Laura…”  Stiles trailed off. He could hear Derek’s sigh from where he sat.

Anger was welling up in him. He took a deep breath and tried to expel it. The last time he’d gotten angry over this he’d brought down a tree and hurt Erica. He couldn’t have that happening again.

“I think that this is all awfully convenient for you. You all the sudden want to settle twenty year old debts in a territory we’ve been holding for you since high school. You’re welcome, by the way. You all the sudden want to tell me things about my mother that I’ve never known. You all the sudden want to share all this information with us. And all you want in return is for us to let our guard down. To let you in. It just...I can’t trust it.”  

Shoulders hunched, the older man averted his eyes. “Stop picking at the grass,” he murmured. “It’s not growing back anymore.”

Stiles looked down at the ground around him. “Was it before?” He asked tentatively. Derek nodded. Stiles laid back down under the sun and closed his eyes again.

“D’you think,” he said, “you and me could have one interaction that doesn’t end in one of us yelling at the other?”

“I can try,” Derek said quietly.

Stiles nodded, and dozed off under the sun.

When he woke again it was colder, and the sky was darkening with clouds. Stiles sat up groggily, breath catching in his throat and his heart beating too fast against his chest. Derek was crossing the lawn  towards him, brow furrowed in concern.

“You were having a nightmare,” he started, but Stiles’ eyes were focused on the sky. “I did this?” He said, gesturing. Derek nodded, crouching down beside him.

Deaton came out of the house, eyes on the sky as he approached Stiles quickly. Derek growled, and Stiles eyes widened. The growl cut off quickly as Deaton approached them both slower now, eyes wary.

“Mr. Stilinski, are you alright?”

Stiles snorted. “Mr. Stilinski,” he repeated, and Derek could tell he was going for humor, but his voice was still rough.

“Had a bad dream,” he said again, louder, looking at the vet, who was focused on the sky.

“Any idea what it was about?”

“’S about my mom,” Stiles muttered, then swore as it started to rain.

“Fuck no.” He said, vehemently, and just like that, the rain stopped.

Deaton chuckled. “Your gift is…it’s marvelous. And so different than your mother’s.”

Derek was still crouched close to him, but Stiles found he didn’t mind.

“What was it? Her…gift?”

Deaton laughed. It was the first time Stiles or Derek had ever seen him laugh, and both of them had known him for the majority of their lives.

“Your mother was…persuasive. Incredibly persuasive. She had a form of mind control.”

Stiles was stunned. “Mind control…my mom had…my mom could…mind control.”

“Yes, it was…infuriatingly impressive. She could convince almost anyone under the sound of her voice to do whatever she wanted.”

“Almost anyone?”

“Yes. It didn’t work on other supernatural creatures: you, Peter Hale, etc. Surprisingly, it didn’t work on your father either, but I believe that’s because she didn’t want it to.”

“What do you mean?” Derek asked before Stiles could.

“Claudia…believed in magic more deeply than most people, I think.”

Stiles snorted. “She was Irish,” and Deaton just nodded.

“Yes. She believed in the old Gods. That she was blessed with her abilities and that if she took advantage of them, they could be taken away from her. She’d been raised, some might even say trained, to believe that magic had rules.”

“You don’t agree?” Derek asked, and Deaton smiled.

“No, I don’t. But, that’s probably for the best. If I’d had the same powers as Claudia Stilinski, I probably would’ve done much more damage than she did.”

“You sound like you knew her well.” 

“I did. She’s part of the reason I’m aligned with the Hale Pack at all. Claudia was a very close friend of Peter’s. It was worth something, in the pack, to be a  trusted confidant of Peter Hale.” 

“He was ruthless, and the majority of the town was afraid of him,” Laura’s voice cut across the yard, and Stiles’ head popped up. She and Lydia were standing at the door. As much as he hated to admit it, they already looked very much the Alpha couple.

“What do you mean?” He asked.  She came out to meet them, Lydia a few steps behind her. Her green eyes darted rapidly between Stiles and Derek. They widened for a moment, then narrowed again, specifically on Derek.

Stiles bit back a smirk. It would be nice to have someone other than him under Lydia’s scrutiny for a while.

“My grandparents only had two kids, My mother was the oldest, so she was in line for Alpha. Peter, as the youngest was training to be an advisor to my mother, a position that’s sometimes called a Left Hand. They handle all the alpha’s dirty work. It’s a different mindset than the average wolf. A  _ significantly  _ different mindset than the average human. He was scary to people. Even us, sometimes,” she met Stiles’ eyes. “Your mother thought he was  _ sweet _ . My parents thought it was hilarious. Some little Irish girl had tamed Peter. People thought they were going to get married for a long while. Until he met Aunt Charlie. ” 

Stiles just stared at her in complete shock. The idea of his mother marrying anyone other than his father was so foreign to him that it took him awhile to process it. To think about people in town gossipping over it. 

“Your mom threw their engagement party.” Derek continued, and his lips twisted up in what looked like a smile. Stiles hoped it wasn’t a smile because it was fucking  _ breathtaking.  _ He was, all the sudden, glad it didn’t happen on a regular basis. “She was the only person in the entire world who could surprise Peter. That Peter would  _ let  _ surprise him.” 

A light bulb went off in his head.

“Wait, I remember that party! Vaguely. I must’ve been like, four? Oh my gosh, Miss McCall was freaked out about something and mom kept trying to calm her down. Dad was just pumped ‘cause he got to grill burgers and dogs. Mom  _ never  _ let him grill.” He smiled fondly, thinking of his family.

Deaton cleared his throat, and Stiles looked over at him.

“What?”

The vet motioned to the old, gnarled rose bush in an abandoned bed near the porch steps. Except, it wasn’t old, or gnarled, or…even growing roses anymore.

The flowers on it were bright and yellow, and the bush now resembled a perfect replica that had been in the backyard of his parents house the day of that party.

“They’re beautiful flowers,” Laura murmured. Lydia and Derek nodded.

“They look exactly like the ones from that day.” Derek added.

“That bush hasn’t bloomed in six years.” Deaton said, finally. And it shook something in Stiles. He didn’t know if he was excited or terrified.

“I’ve never done anything like that before.” He murmured. Derek squeezed his hand and, woah. When had Derek gotten so close to him? When had Derek become the type of guy who did moral support hand squeezes? Why did Derek smell so good?

“You have, actually,” Lydia mused. Stiles looked up at her, shocked. Her sharp green eyes were focused on he and Derek’s joined hands. Stiles snatched his away quickly. Lydia shook her head and looked up at him again.

“I’d gotten into a fight with Jackson. I’d called to talk to you about it.” She said. Laura started growling at Jackson’s name. Lydia rolled her eyes and swatted at the Alpha’s arm.

“Don’t be a cliché,” she scolded, then returned her attention to Stiles. Laura, dutifully, stopped growling. Stiles got the idea that Derek was laughing at her, but he couldn’t figure out why.

“Stiles was telling me about all the ways we were perfect for each other, and how we’d loved each other for so long and how it was meant to be…” she sighed, eyes filled with mirth. Stiles couldn’t help but smile along with her.

“Which was incredibly difficult because, barf.” He said, laughing. She made a shooing motion at him with her hand.

“The point is, Jackson had bought me some flowers. They’d been starting to wilt, on my dining room table. I was considering throwing them out. They perked right up after that phone call.”

Stiles flailed his arms passionately.

“ **_Why_ ** does no one ever tell me these things?!” He whined.

Lydia didn’t rise to the bait. She shrugged prettily.

“You do weird stuff, Stiles. If we pointed it out every time, we’d never stop talking.”

“Laura and I are going to dinner tonight.” Lydia said suddenly. “You and Derek are coming with us.”

Derek sputtered. “But it’s…it’s a  _ bonding _ dinner!” He said, as though Lydia had just asked him to pick her unmentionables up off the floor. Stiles chuckled at him.

“It’s an  _ important time _ !” Derek continued, indignant. “A time when mates are supposed to get to know each other and share food and company. It’s….” Lydia arched an eyebrow at him for a long while, and all the sudden he flushed a violent shade of red, head dropping. 

He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck.

“It’s just special is all.” He finished, eyes darting to Stiles.

“I’m sorry, dude. I don’t get in the way of Lydia’s plans. Can I wear jeans?” He asked hopefully. Lydia just tsked at him.

“Guess not,” he grumbled.

“Yo Deaton!” He called, as the man had wandered back up towards the back door. “Is this little experiment over?”

Deaton nodded amiably, still looking at the flower bush.

“Gianni’s?” He asked Lydia, who nodded. He nodded as well.

“Cool. Your face is already looking better, Laur,” he said, with a tentative smile.

“Yeah. The uh…the presence of my mate…the fact that she’s a member of the new pack…it’s all sort of working out.” Laura smiled shyly, not bearing to look at Lydia.

Stiles chuckled. “You guys are disgusting. I’ll see you tonight!”

With that, he finally rose from the grassy lawn and jogged back into the house to collect Scott so they could be on their way.

He wanted to take a nap, tonight was obviously going to be a long night.

Derek:

Lydia  _ knew _ . Derek thought vehemently, as he fixed his tie for dinner. With her knowing, it was only a matter of time before his sister knew. And God help him then.

“Looking spiffy, Der.” Boyd smiled wryly from Derek’s bedroom door.

The older man fixed him with a blank stare, then blinked and began to grin when he remembered.

“The house smells a lot like Erica. Specifically Isaac’s room?”

Boyd fidgeted nervously.

“He hasn’t been back all day. You’ve gotta do something about that,” Derek said seriously.

Boyd nodded. “Yeah, man. I know. I opened his windows and bought new sheets and stuff.”

“It’s not just the scent you’ve gotta fix. It was disrespectful. You need to apologize to him. What could you possibly have been thinking?”

The beta shrugged, though he still looked guilty. “Wasn’t. She was…it was. I’ve never done anything like that. It’s like I was drunk. She smelled so good. I…I’ll fix it with Isaac. I’ll figure it out.”

“Boyd,” Derek said as the other man turned to leave. “You should talk to Laura, about her, about how you feel.” His brows furrowed with concern.

Boyd just shrugged again, this time with an air of someone who’d given up. “Doesn’t matter. She doesn’t want anything but the sex. So. Y’know.”

And with that he turned and left the room.

Derek scowled into his mirror as he continued fumbling with his tie. So far, since they’d been here, seventy five percent of the pack had ended up mated. And all of the mate pairs were dysfunctional. Lydia didn’t want to be mated to Laura, Stiles hated Derek, and Erica only wanted to have sex with Boyd.

As he grabbed his coat and headed out to the restaurant, he absently hoped Isaac had better luck.

\---

Isaac: 

The run was mostly uneventful, but he learned a lot.

He learned that Allison sang, horribly, while she cleaned.

He learned that she was running all seventeeen west coast branches of Argent Arms.

He learned that she was very, very sick.

“Isaac,” she moaned out, still coughing into the toilet, from the sounds of it. He paused in his run, ears ticked toward the house, wondering if she needed him to go in.

“I know that I’m nothing to you,” she continued, and he whined, because it was already untrue. She was  _ pack _ . “I’m not your Alpha mate and I can’t command you to do anything. But please,” she coughed again, “please don’t tell Scott about this. Not until we can figure out a solution. Please.”

And then she went back to vomiting.

Isaac ran up to the house, and made sure there was a glass of water and some crackers waiting for her when she felt well enough to come out again.

Scott came home, and Isaac loped through the back door and whined. He wasn’t ready yet, to go back to his room that smelled wrong and his pack who was so wrapped up in…mates. Everyone was wrapped up in mates and it was sickening. Here, at least, he didn’t have to deal with any of that.

“What’s wrong?” Allison asked from the couch, where she looked like she felt better than earlier.

“He doesn’t want to leave,” Scott said, tilting his head a little, curious.

“Well then let him stay,” Allison said, as though that was all there was to it. She picked up the remote, and made a frustrated noise at Scott that sent him scurrying back towards the couch.

Isaac went back outside.

As the sun dipped down in the sky, Boyd showed up.

He loped over in wolf form, and Isaac only beat the urge to pounce on him because he knew he’d lose.

Instead he roughly angled his head towards the direction of the shed where he’d left his clothes.

Once they were inside, he shifted and narrowed his eyes at Boyd, who shifted as well, looking guilty immediately.

“I’m sorry, man.” He muttered.

And huffed, but didn’t answer. 

“It was fucked up. I know it was fucked up. I knew it was fucked up when I did it. I just...she’s my mate, okay? She’s my mate and she came to me and she wanted me and I tried to get to my room. I tried. But, honestly, kid, I would’ve taken her on the floor in the living room if she’d asked me to.”

“Ugh. TMI.”

“Your room is just the first one off the stairs, kid. If Laura had chosen that room, it would’ve been hers, and I’d be in way more shit right now. It’s not personal.”

It was probably more words than Boyd tended to use in an entire day, and he wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t say anything else till tomorrow.

Regardless, a wolf finding their mate and being with them for the first time actually was a decent excuse, and Boyd did seem as though he was trying.

“I need a new mattress.”

“I bought you new sheets!”

“ _ Mattress _ ,” he said again, and Boyd sighed.

“Fine. I’ll figure it out. We good?”

“We’re good.”

The older man sagged with relief. “ _ Good.” _

“So,” Isaac continued, “mated. What’s it feel like?”

“Fucked up, most of the time. I just want her. I don’t want or need anybody else. Ever. I don’t know how I know that, I just do. I just want to feed her and fuck her and make her smile for the rest of my life. And all she wants is the fucking part, so...I don’t know. I don’t think that’s how it’s supposed to be. She doesn’t want to, like, get to know me, or anything.” He trailed off, and Isaac bit back a growl. He would have to have a discussion with this  _ Erica _ person. But Boyd rallied, “ Our Alpha found her mate today too, though. They’re on a date right now. You could ask her.”

“So you’re telling me all of our mates were hiding out in Beacon Hills the whole time, and we were in New York like assholes?”

“All? You got something you need to tell me kid?”

“I think I’m mated to this farm,” Isaac said on a dreamy sigh. And Boyd just laughed at him.

The laughter died as they heard it; a wolf, running on the other side of the road, through the preserve, and the hunters that followed him.

Derek: 

“Lyds…what are you up to?” He heard Stiles whisper warily as he and Laura approached the table.

“Whatever do you mean?” She smiled, but she didn’t meet his eyes. Instead, she focused on inspecting her manicure.

“Bullshit,” Stiles spat back at her. “You don’t even want to be here. You don’t even want to  _ do this _ . So why the hell do you look so pleased?”

She did look at him now, and she bared her teeth in a caricature of a smile. “Misery loves company,” she told him, right before looking up at where he and Laura were hovering (not, like,  _ eavesdropping _ or anything, but it would be rude to interrupt the conversation).

“Derek!” She said brightly, completely disregarding Laura at his side. “Don’t you look dapper?”

Derek frowned. It was good, politically and emotionally, for Laura and Lydia’s bond to cement properly. He didn’t want to come between it. But he also didn’t want to upset Lydia, or Stiles.

“Thank you,” he muttered, sitting quietly next to Stiles.

Derek took a gulp of water, and Stiles sighed wearily.

“This is like the intro to a joke,” Stiles muttered, though everyone at the table heard him. 

“Two werewolves, a clairvoyant and a…” he trailed off, eyes widening slightly. “What  _ am _ I?”

Lydia looked up at him, eyes softening.

“Spark,” Derek blurted, and Lydia’s eyes landed on him, narrowing again. He looked at Laura imploringly. She nodded.

“That’s what our grandmother used to call your mom. A spark. I guess it makes sense to call you that, too?”

Stiles sighed, and Derek could feel the tension drained out of him. It drained out of Derek in turn.

When their waiter arrived, Lydia closed Laura’s menu and ordered for them in flawless French.

Derek murmured his order quietly, and Stiles stumbled through his, handing over his menu with a blush high on his cheeks. Derek wanted to kiss it, see if the skin was warm.

Lydia cleared her throat, and his eyes shot back across the table at them.

She was a vision in a deep green gown, low cut down her chest and a high slit up her thigh. Her hair was pulled to one side, a cascade of fire running down her shoulder. Laura herself looked lovely, in a floor length black gown cut high at the neck, and wound tight under her bosom.

She was also absolutely preening.

“It doesn’t bother you?” Stiles blurted, eyes on Laura, “Lyds taking control like that?”

Laura smiled. “No. An alpha needs a capable mate. Especially if that mate is human. It’s good that she can hold her own. Very good.”

“All werewolves look for competence in human mates. It’s the most admirable quality.” Derek said quietly.

“Hmm,” Lydia hummed, all knowing and  _ infuriating _ , “how interesting.”

Stiles snorted. “Yeah. I figured submission would be more up your alley.”

He was being completely sarcastic, but Laura just nodded sagely. “There’s a time and place for submission, but it’s better when it’s earned.” She cut her eyes at Lydia, who was examining the wine list, purposefully ignoring the conversation at hand.

“What if you can’t earn it?” Stiles mused, completely oblivious to the gut wrenching feeling that rose in Derek’s chest.

Laura’s eyes narrowed at him curiously, but she turned back to Stiles.

“We leave them alone to the best of our ability. As you saw with Lydia and Jackson, werewolves are able to be in long term, loving relationships without being mated. It’s a little different for Alpha’s but, not impossible.”

“Different how?” Lydia asked, sounding bored. The side of Laura’s mouth ticked up in a smirk.

“You’re it for me, Red. You don’t want to do this, and that’s fine, I’m not going to force you, but I probably won’t be able to form a meaningful bond with anyone else now that I’ve met you.”

“Don’t call me that,” Lydia shot back, but there was no heat behind it anymore.

Laura turned to Stiles again.

“But in the case, of say, Scott and Allison, a  _ consummated _ mate bond, it would go both ways. If, heaven forbid, something were to happen to Allison, Scott wouldn’t be able to move on to anyone else. He might seek out companionship, company, even sex. But never love. And if something were to happen to Scott, Allison would experience very similar symptoms. Not as strong, because she’s human, but similar.”

“What about now? That Scott’s not an alpha?” Stiles said, he was nervous again, Derek could tell.

Laura sensed it too, but she can only shrug. “An Alpha mate bond is an alpha mate bond.”

“And what about with Stiles and I? Things that aren’t exactly human? Or have some magical component to us?” Lydia asked.

The Alpha shrugged again. “I honestly don’t know about you two. It’s a better question for Deaton.”

She nodded quietly, sipped on her goblet of water without leaving lipstick stains on the glass.

Their food came, steaks for Laura and Derek, a delicate looking seafood dish for Lydia, rosemary chicken for Stiles.

They started eating in silence.

“This is awkward, isn’t it?” Stiles asked, about three bites in.

Laura laughed. “Not as much as you’d think. You want to associate your pack members scents with safety. Food, home, things like that. Until that happens, it's normal to eat quietly, let the scents settle in together.”

Stiles flailed a little. “So you’re always going to associate me with the scent of Rosemary Chicken?!”

Derek choked on his water, laughing.

“I,” stiles started, narrowing his eyes at Derek. “That is  _ not funny _ ! I would’ve ordered something…better if I’d known. Chicken was just all I knew how to pronounce in fucking  _ French _ !”

He rounded on Lydia. “This is entirely your fault.”

Her eyes were sparkling when they met his, but she nodded. “Sure, dear.”

And just like that the ice was broken.

Derek and Laura talked about New York, about how terrible it had been to leave Beacon Hills. Laura transitioning into being an Alpha with no territory. How she’d poured herself into school, then work.

How Derek had…drifted. It was hard to talk about, especially with Stiles here, someone he wanted so desperately to impress.

“I bartended for a while. I uh…I did some construction…”

“How’d you get into cars?” Stiles asked. 

“Our dad and even Uncle Peter sometimes, worked on them. Big pack, there were a lot of cars. Little things like oil changes and busted headlights, it just made more sense to do it ourselves than bring them into town.” 

“That’s cool. But you’re doing a lot more than oil changes and headlights.” 

Derek nodded, smiling. “Yeah. I was good at it, when we were here, and then...after. I got a job at a mechanic in New York. I stayed there until we came back. Learned a lot, it was good.” 

“We found Isaac there. He’d been...sleeping, in the alley behind the garage.” 

Stiles looked up sharply, “He was homeless?” 

“Yes. It’s not a pretty story. Not good dinner conversation. I shouldn’t have brought it up, but...Derek saved his life, and brought him home to us.” 

There was a moment of silence. Derek peeked up at Laura to find her looking at him, a softness on her face that she saved only for him.

“He was pack,” he muttered, and he could feel the blood rushing to his face. 

You’re a good packmate” Stiles said, like it was easy, then he dug back into his chicken.

Lydia opened her mouth to say something, then her whole body went rigid, eyes going soft and unfocused. Laura and Derek’s eyes shot to her, but Stiles was the only one who seemed to know what to do.

“Lyds?” He asked softly, and her eyes snapped back to him, then rolled as she waved him off.

“I’m fine,” she snapped. “We don’t have time.”

She made a hand motion and the waiter appeared at their table again. “We need the check,” she said with a tight smile, and he rushed off to get it for her.

Derek felt his hackles rise. Something was wrong, he just couldn’t put his finger on what.

Stiles seemed to feel the same way. “I didn’t think it was going  _ that _ badly,” he muttered into his water goblet, drinking hastily.

“It’s not. We’ll have to do this again, the four of us,” she said, eyes on Derek.

He felt like he wanted to hide from her, so he held her gaze. He would not be stared down by anyone, not even his Alpha’s mate.

The waiter came back to the check, placing it with a flourish in the middle of the table. Lydia looked at Laura meaningfully, and the Alpha grinned as she pulled a card from her clutch and handed it back to the waiter.

Derek understood her joy, as an Alpha, providing for her mate and pack must’ve felt wonderful. Her scars had almost entirely healed, her face was flawless, the cut on her thigh was still there, she’d bitched about the whole way there, had wanted to wear a more provocative gown.

(“She should at least see what she’s missing,” she’d whined. “Don’t be crass.” Derek had snapped back at her. She’d pouted the rest of the way there.)

“The betas need you.” Lydia said absently, once the check had been paid. Laura glanced at her, and at that very moment, Derek heard the howling. Boyd, and Isaac, somewhere in the preserve. He looked at Lydia in awe.

“How’d you do that?”

She shot him a level look. “I have no idea.”

They all rose to leave the restaurant, Stiles trailing behind them.

“I’m missing something. Why won’t anyone tell me what it is that I’m missing? I don’t like this. Is somebody gonna  _ talk to me? _ ”

Isaac:

Boyd shifted first, Isaac soon after him, and they ran together through the night.

When they tracked the wolf down, they realized two things, that he was surrounded, and that he wasn’t full grown.

Something hot and familiar welled up in Isaac. He remembered being young and cornered, remembered doing things he didn’t want to do, shouldn’t have had to do.

Three against three were favorable odds as far as Isaac was concerned.  He jumped in without thinking any further.

The hunters were sloppy, nowhere near what Laura had trained them to face in the Argents, and they went down easy. Isaac was grazed by a wolfsbane bullet, which meant it would heal, though it’d be a bitch.

When they were sure their enemies were dead, they howled up at the sky, waiting for Laura to come.

The young wolf tried to run when the fighting was over, eyes wide and anxiety pouring off him in nauseating waves. He reminded Isaac a little too much of himself at that age. Young and lost and so, so scared.

Still in wolf form, Isaac and Boyd circled him, warily, making sure he had no method of escape.

When Laura burst through the woods wearing an evening gown, Isaac knew there was no way for the evening to go well. Derek, Lydia, and the weird one, Stiles, ambled in behind her. Stiles stayed back, while Derek began stripping off his clothes to shift with them.

Lydia started inspecting the dead bodies around the clearing, moving to them as though she was drawn.

“So, who the hell is this?” Laura snapped, stepping boldly towards the young wolf.

He whined, ears flattening against his skull, and Isaac found himself growling, stepping between the new wolf and his Alpha.

Laura stuttered to a stop, eyes widening. “What’re you… _ Jesus _ Isaac I’m not gonna hurt him. I just wanna see if he can shift back on his own. He’s new, can’t you smell it?”

He could, but for some reason it didn’t make him feel better about the situation. The feeling wasn’t strong enough to challenge his Alpha over, though, especially since he knew he’d lose. He moved around, coming to stand behind the young wolf. Isaac thought his coat might be pure white, under the muddled dirt and tree droppings. Isaac resisted to urge to groom him, he didn’t think it’d help the situation much.

“Hey, little guy,” Laura tried again, softer. “I don’t know where you came from, but I want you to know you’re safe here. We’re not like those guys, we’re not gonna hurt you.”

The white wolf made a sound like disbelief, and Laura continued smiling softly at him.

“I know, everything is new. You don’t know who to trust. That’s fair. It’d be easier if you could shift back for us. Do you know how?”

The young wolf shook his head in a clear negative. Laura shrugged. “Okay, it’s fine. I’ll help you.”

She went to reach for the clasp of her dress just as Lydia let out a small gasp.

“Alex,” she murmured, hovering over the lifeless body of one of the hunters.

Laura’s eyes flew over, “Somebody you know, Red?”

“No,” the redhead replied, wetly, “No, I didn’t know him. He’s just…he’s’ my barista. I just saw him this morning. ”

Her breath was picking up, blood rushing too fast through her veins. Her heart tripped, but Isaac couldn’t tell if it was a lie, or just the shock of a dead body.

Laura’s head tilted like she was thinking the same thing.

Stiles moved over to Lydia, resting a hand on her shoulder. “Breathe, Lyds. This isn’t like you. Talk to me.”

“Do you want me to breathe or talk, Stiles?” She snapped, and he grinned down at her.

She sighed, and stood.  

The Alpha regarded her carefully for moment, looking like she wanted to reach out, give some comfort. Instead, she nodded once before dropping her dress and shifting. 


	9. Interlude: Claudia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things: 
> 
> 1) I’m late again, sorry 
> 
> 2) I aged up Peter 
> 
> 3) We’re halfway done!!

**October 1979**

The morning of second grade show and tell dawned bright over Dublin Bay, just like Claudia had prayed for. She scurried out of bed, hurrying to her parents room. In her excitement, she tripped over her own feet, sliding and stubbing her toe against the frame of her parent’s door with a yelp.

“Careful, love,” Her father grunted ,the way he did when he was half asleep and worried, head popping up from under the blankets. “You must move more carefully. Are you alright?”

But Claudia was a child, and she recovered quickly. She nodded, though there were still tears in her eyes, and the foot still throbbed. She didn’t have _time_ to cry. She was too excited.

“It’s morning, Papa! It’s morning! You must get up!” She cried as she regained her footing.

Her father chuckled but sat up, wiping at his eyes. “I must, must I?” He said with a soft smile on his face, swinging his legs out of the bed.

Claudia nodded, strawberry blonde curls bouncing around her face.

“Well, if we must,” the man said, rising out of the bed and stretching. He ran a hand over her curls as he passed her and went out into the hallway.

“Go get washed,” he called back to her. “I’ll start breakfast.”

In their small kitchen, Michael pretended to ponder while gathering the makings for their meal.

“How about pancakes, little one?” He asked. 

“Pancakes!” she cried cheerily.

He put a finger over his mouth, but he was still smiling. 

“Pancakes!” She repeated, in a stage whisper this time, and he nodded at her. 

“What about mama?” Claudia asked.

“How’s about we let mama sleep awhile? Then surprise her when breakfast is ready and you’re all set for school?”

And, because Claudia was a great lover of mischief and surprises, she nodded and rushed off to get ready for school.

Mama spoiled it, though, by waking up while Claudia was still getting dressed.

When she slid into the kitchen again, her mother was already sitting at the table, cutting pancakes into squares.

"Slow down, love,” she sighed, not looking up from her cutting. 

“Hey!” Claudia whined, “you’re still supposed to be sleeping!”

Amalie yawned as if on cue. “Well I am still quite tired, would you like for me to go back to bed? I was going to cut your pancakes but if you’d  rather be left to your own devices….”

“No!” Claudia said, laughing at her mother’s mischief.

“You look like a sleepy princess, Mama,” Claudia smiled.

Amalie smiled in return. “Thank you, love.”

“Where’s Papa?” The young girl asked, looking around for her partner in crime.

“He went to the cottage to get your grandmother. You know she doesn’t like to walk alone.”

Claudia giggled and bounced on her toes.

Sighing, Amalie rose, fetching another plate and more food.

“Eat, love. You’ll need your strength for show and tell, won’t you?”

“Yes. I will,” Claudia responded, eyes serious as she tucked into her breakfast.  

Since she’d first started school, all the older kids talked about show and tell. Most kids brought toys, or sometimes even pets but Claudia was going to put them all to shame. Claudia was going to bring a _person_.

Grandma Ivy had agreed to go to school with her and teach the kids all about plants. it was going to be _amazing_ , Claudia was sure, because there was nothing better than Grandma Ivy and plants.

“Papa’s pancakes are the best,” Claudia sighed. “don’t you think, mama?”

Amalie nodded easily, not really paying attention. It was October, Claudia knew, and October always made her mother very sad.

The front door creaked open.

“Where’s my gorgeous girl?!” Her grandmother called out, and Claudia ran out of the chair.

“Grandma!” She called, rushing up to meet the older woman.

Ivy crouched down to catch her granddaughter in a hug, squeezing tightly.

“Mmmm,” she hummed happily. “it seems you’ve grown at least a foot since I’ve last since you!”

Claudia laughed. “Grandma! You only just saw me yesterday!”

Ivy laughed. “Well then the spirits must’ve done a lot of work overnight, mustn't they?” She laughed, and Claudia laughed with her.

“The spirits were busy keeping the moon up and the stars shining, Grandma! They didn’t have time for me.”

It was an old game the two of them played, always speculating as to what the great spirits had created the night before.

“Come now, my two gorgeous girls, we’re going to be late for school. As for you, my third gorgeous girl,” Michael said, eyeing his wife with fondness, “I have work until four, and then I was supposed to get a pint with the boys, but I’ll be home in time for dinner.”

Amalie just nodded, waving her fork in agreement.

Michael didn’t say much, he knew that October made Amalie sad as well.

Claudia was practically buzzing the whole walk to school.

She waved at every kid she saw on the way to school, even the ones she didn’t know. Some of them gave her strange looks but then again, they always did.

Claudia wasn’t a normal little girl and she didn’t very much like being treated like one.

Class was _agony_. There were plenty of tedious things to do before the show and tell could even get started, and Grandma Ivy had to sit in the back of the class and do nothing while Jimmy Mark’s stumbled over his reading again.

And when they _did_ start, the teacher decided to call them in _alphabetical order_ which was even more awful because her last name started with an M. And, Claudia supposed it could be worse (poor Luca Zimori), but it meant she had to listen to that awful Viola Daniels blather on about her stupid _cat_ that she hadn’t even thought to bring. What’s the use in talking about a cat that wasn’t there to pet and coo over? It was madness really.

But when it was her turn, Claudia was prepared to shine.

“Everyone, I’d like for you to meet my grandmother, Ivy McLoughlin. She’s an endyclopadia when it comes to plants,” she said proudly.

“Encyclopedia, dear,” her teacher murmured, over the chuckles of the children.

"Yes,” Claudia nodded, blushing hot, “Encyclopedia.” The laughs grew louder.

“I’d very kindly ask you to stop!” Claudia said, voice loud, and all the chatter died down.

Her grandma Ivy was looking at her strangely, probably because she wanted to speak.

‘I’ll let her tell you now, about plants and all,” She said, moving out of the way so that her grandmother could talk.

Grandma Ivy had been a botanist when she was young. She’d studied everything there was to know about plants. And then there was the magic, but Grandma said they couldn’t tell anyone about that and Claudia loved a secret.

“Anyone can’t plant things,” Jimmy Marks said haughtily, interrupting Grandma Ivy which, rude. “My mother’s garden is at least three times the size of your grandmothers.”

“Everyone knows your mother gets her saplings from my grandmother so you just shut your stupid mouth, James!” She cried out.

And Jimmy seemed to be clenching his teeth together to keep from replying, his face cherry red.

“I think that’s quite enough, Claudia.” Grandma said, and Claudia nodded, but her face was hot and she felt herself start to cry.

It was supposed to be _amazing_ and yet everyone was laughing at her.

“I’m sure it’ll work out better next time, Claudia,” Miss Neal said kindly. “I know you were looking forward to it.”

“You don’t talk to me!” Claudia screamed, crying. “Don’t even look at me! Leave me alone!”

And Miss Neal was the best teacher ever, because she didn’t say another word to Claudia for the rest of class. Didn’t even look at her. Left her completely alone.

 

\--

 

Grandma was quiet on the walk home from school, though she was full of things to say, Claudia could feel it. She knew she’d probably get in trouble. She shouldn’t have screamed at Miss Neal that way, or stupid Jimmy Marks, even though he had been rude. It wasn’t nice, and she’d been taught better. Mama would be so upset to hear of the way she’d behaved.

When they got to the house, they found her mother in the living room, trying to knit. She’d never done that before. When Ivy asked her about it though, she’d just shrugged. “I’m getting older,” she said, “I need a new hobby I think.”

Grandma had looked like she was about to say something, but let it pass.

“You must call Michael home, there’s something we need to discuss.”

Claudia’s eyes went wide. She knew she was in trouble but to call her father home from work early. She started to cry again.

"No! Please don’t! I’m sorry! I’ll be good. I won’t yell at school anymore, I promise. Papa will be so upset with me.”

Amalie’s eyes widened at her daughter’s distress. “Ivy,” she said, “are you sure it can't’ wait until he gets home? He shouldn’t be long, now.”

“Call him.” Ivy said again, firmly, eyeing Claudia warily.

The child just drooped, dragging herself to the dining room table where she laid her head down and tried to remember the pancakes from earlier that morning. Mama had always taught her that holding onto good memories could keep you from feeling too sad.

Her father was home fifteen minutes later, panting as if he’d been running.

"Is everything alright,” he said as soon as he came through the door. “Is Claudia alright?”

“Claudia’s fine, Michael,” Amalie said immediately. “I think there’s just been some trouble at school? Come, sit. Ivy wouldn’t tell me anything until you got here.”

Michael sat, and Ivy called for Claudia, who was still pouting at the table.

“I’m not sure,” Ivy said slowly, hands on Claudia’s shoulders. “But I think I might have gotten a peek at Claudia’s magic today. And if I have, it’s rather dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” Amalie repeated. Then she shook her head. “No, Claudia doesn’t have any magic.”

Michael sighed, “We’ve talked about this love. All the woman of my line have magic. There’s no reason for Claudia to be an exception.”

“There’s plenty _reason,_ ” Amalie hissed. And she opened her mouth to say more.

“Please stop fighting,” Claudia whispered, because she hated to see them argue at all.

Amalie’s eyes fell on her daughter and softened. “Of course, love. We’re sorry.”

Ivy’s hands tightened on her shoulders.

“Ask them for something else, Bug,” she said.

“Um….can we have pancakes again, for dinner?”

Michael laughed. “well I don’t see why not. Pancakes can be good after a hard day.”

“Try to say no to her, Michael.” Ivy said, starting to sound wary.

“You did have pancakes this morning, though, Cee. How about some burgers instead? I’ll fire up the grill?”

“No, Michael,” Ivy stressed. "Don’t compromise with her. Just say no."

Michael looked at Claudia more closely, opening his mouth and closing it again before his eyes widened in realization. He barked out a laugh.

“I can’t.” He said, and it was Claudia’s turn to look on with wide eyes.

“Well I’ll be damned,” her father continued. “Is this to be your magic then, Bug? You’ve got the whole world wrapped around your little finger then, don’t you?”

“No.” Amalie muttered.

Claudia looked over at her mother, and her eyes were wide with something other than surprise. There was fear in them.

“Are you mad, mama?” She asked, and her mother immediately shook her head.

"She can’t…she can’t _do_ this, Ivy. This is _terrifying._ ”

Ivy nodded. “It doesn’t seem to work on me. I can teach her. Train her. We can control it.” She said.

“Mama, please don’t be afraid,” Claudia tried, and her mother's shoulders, stiff with tension, relaxed.  Her eyes went wide with alarm again.

“Claudia, hush for a while. Actually, why don’t you go to your room?” 

“I want to stay,” she whined, looking at her parents. “Please let me stay.”

Michael looked to his mother. “Mum, is there any _way_ she could just….”

“No, Michael. She may _not._ Claudia, to your room!”

She ran into her room, and glared daggers at the door until it opened almost an hour later.

She’d heard her mother screaming, crying, her father trying to console her. She’d heard her grandmother’s steady voice all the while, soothing and explaining.

It was her grandmother who opened the door after all the time passed, looking down at her kindly.

“My magic isn’t good.” Claudia said simply.

“Your magic is very powerful,” Ivy said, ‘It was the potential to do great things.”

“But it isn’t good,” Claudia repeated. “It scares mama.”

“All magic scares your mother. And I can teach you how to control yours, so that you won’t scare anyone anymore. Would you like that?”

Claudia nodded. “I make people do things?” She asked quietly. And Ivy hummed agreement at her.

“So like Miss Neal, when I told her to leave me alone? She wasn’t being nice? I _made_ her do it?" 

Ivy nodded.

“So…is Becca Carson at school really my friend? Because I asked her if she wanted to be and she said yes. But did she really mean yes or did I make her?”

Her grandmother gasped. “I don’t…I don’t know, Bug.”

Claudia started to cry again. “My magic’s not good.” She repeated, looking up at her grandmother.

“Can you help me make it good?”

Ivy nodded very seriously. “Yes, my dear. I can.”

 

\--

 

**October 1985**

In six years, Claudia learned an exceptional amount of control. She was like a normal girl now, she could talk to people without compelling them. She knew that she had real friends who cared about her very much and a family that loved her.

Loved her, but might have still been a little afraid of her.

Claudia’s relationship with her mother had changed drastically when she was eight.

It wasn’t originally distance. Claudia doesn’t think that was ever Amalie’s intention. Her mother just liked to say no as much as possible. Just to be sure that she could, Claudia thought. And she understood that. Her grandmother had taught her to empathize with the idea of being made to do something against your will. She knew it must be terrifying for her mother to know that, if Claudia wanted, she could make her do things. So she didn’t fault her for saying no.

But her father did.

Amalie’s insistence on saying no to Claudia caused terrible fights between them.

“She’s a _child_ , Melly!” Her father would scream.

“She stopped being a child as soon as the magic got to her!” Amalie would scream back and Michael would laugh, but there wouldn’t be any humor in it.

“And when, exactly, was that, Mel? When she was eight? Did she stop being our daughter when she was eight? Or was it before that? When did she stop being something we needed to protect and start being something we needed to protect ourselves from? Please, tell me.”

When the fought like that, Claudia would hide in her room. She’d turn off all her lights and bury herself under her blankets, and she wouldn’t say anything out loud, for fear she’d compel her parents. But, on nights like that, her head was a very loud place.

_Please stop fighting._

_Please stop fighting._

_Please stop fighting._

She’d beg silently while she cried into her pillow.

But they didn’t.

And that meant she’d done the right thing.

One afternoon, it was raining, and Claudia and her mother were preparing dinner for when her father got home 

Amalie had been humming one moment, and the next, walked over to the door and opened it, though Claudia hadn’t heard anyone knock.

“Tyler,” her mother said, And Claudia ran to the door, to look, but there was no one there.

“Mama,” she said slowly, “are you alright?”

“Shh,” Amalie said sharply, “I’m talking to a friend, Claudia. Go finish with the vegetables, I’ll be right back.”

“But mama, there’s no one--”

“Claudia! Do as _I_ say.” Her mother demanded, and Claudia ran back into the kitchen.

It wasn’t very far, and she could hear her mother talking, though she couldn’t make out exactly what was being said. Occasionally, her mom would giggle, and she hadn’t heard her make that sound in a long time.

Worried as she was, Claudia was endeared to anything that made her mother happy.

A moment later, Amalie came back over to the kitchen, coat in hand.

“If I’m not back before your father gets home, tell him my good friend Tyler’s come back to town, and that we’re going for a walk.”

“Who’s Tyler? Mama there’s no one at the door!”

“Hush now, Claudia,” her mother said sharply. Then she sighed, tried to smile. “I’ll be back before dinner.”

The door closed softly behind her.

Claudia finished cutting the vegetables and pouring them into the big pot to stew, the beef had gone in a bit before, and it was all browning very nicely. She peeled potatoes to make the stew a bit more hearty, it was cold out, and they’d sleep better with warm bellies, she thought.

She’d taken down the bread to start cutting when her father opened the door.

“Hi,” she said brightly, before realizing.

Her father was home, and her mother wasn’t. 

“Where’s Mel?” He asked, hanging his coat up.  

“It was very strange, Papa,” Claudia explained. “She said she was going for a walk with a friend but there was no one at the door. I mean, I didn’t see anyone at least, but she _was_ talking.”

“Did she give you a name, Bug?” Michael asked, face pinched with worry.

Claudia nodded. “Yes, she said his name was Tyler, that he was back in town?”

Her father’s hand came around her wrist, clenching tight.

“Tyler, Cee? She said Tyler, you’re sure?”

“Yes, sir.” Claudia nodded. “I tried to stop her…”

“Why didn’t you _make_ her?!” Michael roared, releasing her arm suddenly, and Claudia stumbled back a few steps.

“I…Papa you know I can’t _do_ that anymore! It’s not _good_. I have to be good if I want to keep it!”

Michael couldn’t meet her eyes, his shoulders slumped as he drew in ragged breaths.

“Claudia, your mother…I have to find her. I have to go find her, okay?”

“She should be back any moment now,” Claudia tried, but Michael shook his head, reaching for his coat.

“If she comes back while I’m out make sure she stays put. She might…it could be dangerous, Claudia. You might have to compel her. I need you to promise.”

“I…Papa what’s going on?” Claudia said, voice shaking.

“Promise me, Claudia.”

“I can’t…I don’t….I’ll try. I promise I’ll try, Papa.”

It wasn’t the answer he wanted, she could tell by the look on his face, but he didn’t say so. He huffed and grabbed his coat, the door slamming behind him.

Claudia didn’t move immediately after he left. She stood in the living room, eyes torn between the front door and the pot of stew on in the kitchen. It wouldn’t do to let it burn but it felt disrespectful somehow to go back to it. Her mother was missing, she couldn’t do _normal_ things, couldn’t stir a pot in the kitchen and hum to herself. She couldn’t eat or do homework or any of the things she normally did on school nights because this wasn’t any ordinary school night. This was the night that her mother went missing, apparently. The night that her father was so scared that he’d screamed at her for _not_ using her power. It was special. Not necessarily the good kind of special but special all  the same, which meant she had to _do_ something.

She didn’t know what to do.

When her parents came back, she thought absently, they’d be hungry, from all that walking. And cold, too. They’d need the stew, she told herself as she paced back into the kitchen.

It was just about done, thick and bubbling in their largest pot. She lowered the heat to let it thicken, stirred it a bit. There wasn’t very much to do, it was so close to done.

But the fire was waning, so she tended to it, stoked it up until it was warm and roaring again.

She made herself a bowl of stew when it was done, made sure to wash her dishes. She curled up on the couch and she waited, and waited, and waited until she fell asleep.

That was the last time she ever saw her parents.

\--

 

**October 1987**

 

“I’m sorry, Mrs. McLoughlin. There’s nothing else we can do. With treatment, you might live out the year, but without…a month is optimistic.”

Ivy sighed, her shoulders slumping in defeat, but only for a moment. Then she smiled up at her doctor. “Don’t worry yourself about it, dear. It seems it’s meant to be. Now if you don’t mind, I have arrangements to make.”

“I…there are medications we can give you, for the pain.” The spectacled man tried. But Ivy waved him off. “I’ll be fine.” She said, already standing to leave.

She took a taxi home, sitting in her living room for a while before going into the kitchen, reaching for the phone on the wall, and dialing a familiar number.

“Hello?” Her friend’s voice came over the line.

“Hello, Valencia.” She sighed.

“You wouldn’t call if it were good news,” Val sighed, and Ivy could hear the movement as she lowered herself into a chair.

“It’s gotten too far, Val. They can’t stop it. They’ve given me a few weeks at most.”

“I…this is all my fault,” Valencia said, crying. “It’s all my fault and I’m so _sorry_ , Ivy.”

Ivy tsked at her. “Val dear, I’m old. Quite a bit older than you. And I’ve lived a full life. The cancer runs in my family. It probably would’ve happened just like this regardless.”

“You’d have Michael there, at least. If it wasn’t for me you’d have Michael there to…”

“To watch me die? I’ve never been so grateful not to have my son around. Val, don’t worry about me. I’ve called to ask what we’re to do about Claudia. She doesn’t have any more family here, and she’s still too young to be on her own.” Ivy said.

“I think it would be best,” she continued, “if she came to stay with you now.”

Valencia caught her breath. “You know she _can’t_. She’s only sixteen, Ivy. I’ll not…I’ll not kill her before she’s even had a chance!”

“Val you know that’s not how this works. She’ll fall in love, she’ll have a child. She won’t die just by being near you, those aren’t the terms of the curse.”

“But Amalie got so much time, Ivy, being away. Almost double the life her sister had. What if Claudia could have longer, if she were further away?”

“Val,” Ivy sighed, “that doesn’t make any _sense_. We thought it was the magic that preserved Amalie, and we turned out to be wrong, considering it was the magic that killed her.”

“I have a friend, in America, that’d be willing to watch over her for me.”

“America?! Valencia please, she needs her family.”

“This is all I can do for her, Ivy. I can’t bring her here…I can’t. I just can’t.”

Ivy knew better than to press.

“I don’t agree with you, but you know that.”

“This is what has to be done.” Val agreed.

“Alright then. Let me know when you’ve made the arrangements. She’ll be ready.”

“We’ll speak soon.”

Ivy sighed as she placed the phone back on the hook.

“Grandmother?”

Ivy started, peering around the corner to see Claudia standing in the living, school bag dangling from her wrist.

“Claudia. You’re home early.”

“They cancelled book club today. Becca says she’s sick.” Claudia said, eyeing her grandmother carefully.

“Ah, will she be alright?” There was a tension in the room, Claudia’s eyes going back and forth between her grandmother and the phone, sitting innocuously against the wall.

“She’ll be fine, she wanted to watch Colby’s rugby match so she faked. Was that Grandma Val?”

Ivy nodded.

Claudia’s bag fell to the floor. “It didn’t go well with the doctor?”

“No, Bug.”

“How bad?”

“The cancer’s spread too far, Claudia. They can’t do anything about it. I don’t have very much time.”

“How much time is not very much?”

“Claudia…”

“How _much_?”

“Weeks, Claudia. I won’t live out the year.”

“No,” Claudia said. ‘You can’t leave me. You can’t die.”

Ivy could hear the magic in her voice, and she frowned. “Claudia, death is not something we have control over, magic or not. And to compel a person to do something they’re physically incapable of doing? It would drive them mad, Bug. You mustn't ever do that again.”

Claudia started to cry: fat, angry tears rolling down her face in waves.

“I’m sorry!” She hiccoughed. “I just don’t know what to do! Everyone leaves! Everyone dies! And I don’t want to be a part of this anymore! I don’t want to fall in love, or have a child, or start a family that I’m just going to leave. I just…I want to stay here, with you.”

“Claudia,” Ivy soothed. “Everyone dies. Curse or no curse, everyone dies. The curse is not killing me. Cancer is killing me." 

“The curse will kill me, though,” Claudia mumbled, wiping at her nose with her shirt sleeve.

Ivy tsked and handed her a napkin. “Yes, love. It will. But that doesn’t mean you stop living your life. It means you live as much of it as you can as fast as possible, Bug. You have to chase after love, after companionship and family. You don’t have the luxury of waiting around for them to find you.”

Claudia looked away, obviously miserable.

“Does Grandma Val want me to come to France with her?”

Ivy shook her head. “No. She’s worried that being closer to her will make the curse act faster. She wants you to have as much time as possible.”

“Where then?” The girl mumbled, folding herself into the nearest couch.

“America,” Ivy said, going to sit next to her. Claudia leaned into her side.

“I don’t know anyone there,” she whispered.

“Exactly,” Ivy whispered back. “You get to start fresh. None of the pain from here has to come with you. It’ll be an adventure.”

Claudia just nodded, resigned.

They stayed there, huddled close, until dinner.

 

\--

**December 1987**

Everything that Claudia McLoughlin cared about fit in one large, black duffle bag. It hung at her side as the escalator carried her down into the sea of strangers.

Claudia wasn’t from a small town. But still, everything seemed bigger here. The lights seemed brighter and the people more excited.

There was a man in the crowd holding a sign with her name on it. She walked over to him slowly. He was taller than her by quite a bit, though she was only five four. His shoulders were very broad, and his hair was brown, cut close to his head. He was wearing sunglasses inside.

Over the summer, Becca Carson had learned a word from some American television show her parents didn’t know she watched. Before Claudia left, Becca had pulled her aside and whispered it to her. It’s what cool kids in America said, so she should know it, Becca had told her seriously.

But, while Claudia appreciated the sentiment, she thought the word was vile and couldn’t imagine, at the time, having any call to use it.

Until just now.

This man looked like a _douchebag_.

When he took his glasses off, she saw his eyes were very blue. She tried to smile at him, but gave up when he didn’t smile back.

“Of course you are,” he sneered, and then turned on his heel and walked away.

Claudia scurried after him, duffle dragging behind her.

“Excuse me!” She called out after him, but he didn’t turn.

“Excuse me!” She called again.

If anything, he started walking _faster_.

Frustration bubbled up in her. “Would you just **_stop?!_ **” she shrieked, voice echoing through the airport lobby.

She knew what she’d done wrong immediately. She felt it, the magic crackling around her, the power in her voice.

But she wasn’t prepared for the whole airport to go still.

The whole airport _except_ the person she was screaming at. He turned to her, eyes wide as he took in their surroundings, and cursed under his breath.

Quickly, he grabbed her by the wrist, pulling her through the airport.

“Wait,” she hissed, pulling against him. “I’ve got to…do something.”

“They’ll be fine once you’re gone.”

“How do _you_ know?”

“I don’t. But if you fix them now, they’re gonna have a lot of questions once they start moving again.”

He scooped her duffle out of her hand, swinging it over his shoulder as they moved quickly, out of the airport doors and across an immaculate skybridge, into a parking lot.

He stood her in front of an old white pickup truck, tossing her back into the bed. She stared after it.

“Anything fragile in there?” He asked, too late. But she shook her head.

“Then get in the damn truck,” he snapped.

She did, sliding into the raised front seat, and he looked at her as he started the car up.

“Aren’t you gonna do it?” he asked.

“Do what?”

“Release them or whatever?”

She stopped. She didn’t know how, really. So she tried to focus on exactly what she’d said.

“Would you all please…start moving again?” she mumbled.

The man snorted. “That was terrible.”

“I’ve never done that many people before! I shouldn’t have done it at all but you made me so angry and I just…it slipped!”

“Fantastic!” He cried, slapping his palms against the steering wheel. Turning, he slowly backed the car out of the spot.

“Accidental magic using twelve year old. That’s what I need,” he muttered.

“I am sixteen!” she shrieked. “Who ARE YOU?!”

She realized too late that she’d just followed him. Just gotten into his car and driven away from the relative safety of the airport, her eyes went wide with panic. She’d been in America ten minutes and she’d already managed to get herself kidnapped. Great work, Claudia, she thought to herself.

He seemed to sense her panic. “No, I’m…shit. Sorry. I’m Johnny Stilinski. I should’ve said sooner. I’m sorry. Our grandmothers are friends? You’re going to be staying with her.”

“…and you hate me.”

He sighed, running a hand over his face. “I don’t _hate_ you, I just…” he shrugged.

“Yes. That’s helpful.” Claudia snapped.

“Look,” he sighed, frustrated, “You’re going to stay with my grandmother. She’s all I've got left in the world. She’s spry as shit, but she’s old. And she doesn’t need this right now. I’ve been trying to get her to _slow down_ . But now, she gets you. And I don’t want her involved in this. I don’t want her involved in magic or, or fucking _curses._ I just want her to be normal. And, honestly I wish someone had told me about the magic. I mean, it makes sense, when you consider that you’re cursed or whatever, but I still think I should’ve been _informed_ , I mean Jesus. You paralyzed an airport.”

She crossed her arms and looked pointedly out the window.

“You could’ve just told my grandmother no, if it was going to be so awful for you.”

Johnny scoffed. “If your grandmother had asked, I would’ve. But she didn’t. I was asked to do this by _my_ grandmother. And no one says no to my grandmother.”

“You know about the curse?”

Johnny shrugged. “Just that you are cursed. And that’s all I want to know, really. _More_ than I want to know.” He groused.

They drove in silence for hours. Grandma Val had told her that she was staying with the Stilinski’s, in the small town of Beacon Hills, California. When she’d looked it up, she’d been shocked to find that California was a huge place: larger than all of Ireland.

Val had been helpful, though, telling her that it was North of Sacramento, but South of Redding, in the northern section of the state.

She’d flown into Sacramento airport, though, so she knew there was a two hour drive to get to her new home.

Johnny eventually turned the radio on, volume low so that you could hear more music than static, and Claudia found herself dozing off. She’d been too nervous to truly sleep on the plane, catching minutes here and there. The adrenaline of the airport, mixed with the energy of compelling that many people made it almost impossible to keep her eyes open.

“Sleep,” Johnny grunted, noticing her doze. “There’s nothing else to do.”

She didn’t respond to him, just let the lull of the radio take her under.

 

\--

 

“Hey. Hey. _Claudia,”_ she was being shaken. 

“What? What?” She grunted, sitting up. 

“We’ll be in town in about an hour. I thought you might want to see.” Johnny said softly, and she did want to see, so she sat up.

They were next to the ocean. The sun was still high in the sky, it could only be a little past noon, and the waves sparkled.

“It’s beautiful,” she murmured. “I didn’t know Beacon Hills was a beach town?”

“Oh, it’s not. We’ll curve inland in a couple miles. I just like to take this way.”

“I see why,” Claudia said quietly.

The ocean was on his side, a massive forest looming up and above on hers, she had to almost lean over him to see, but he didn’t seem to mind.

His window was open, and she could hear the crash of the waves, and the sound of people laughing up and down the beach. The taste of salt was heavy in the air, and Claudia couldn’t keep herself from smiling.

“I love the sea,” she sighed, settling back into her seat.

Johnny nodded. “Me too. I surf when I have the time.”

They were turning away from the ocean now, a thick forest ahead of them.

Even though they couldn’t hear the ocean anymore, Johnny kept the window down. The sounds of the forest were beautiful as well. There was a hush around them that made her want to pray.

Ivy had always taught her that the Gods of the forest and the Gods of the sea were the strongest. But where the ocean was loud and volatile, the forest’s power was gentler, and ever present hum beneath the dirt.

And this forest was powerful, there was no doubt about that. These were the greenest trees she’d ever seen in her life, and the scent of the soil was strong.

Silently, she asked the Gods for safe passage through their temple. Just then, she noticed a bolt of gray to her right.

A wolf, she thought, running beside the car, keeping itself hidden in the treeline.

Her heart clenched.

“Are there wolves in these woods?”

Johnny nodded. “There’s not supposed to be, but we hear ‘em howling every so often, so we suppose there’s gotta be a few. There’s mentions about calling the ecological society or what not, but apparently you need a confirmed sighting by a forest ranger to warrant a visit. We only hear them every now and again, we’ve definitely never seen one.”

Claudia glanced to her right again, and the wolf was still there: gray and sleek and keeping pace with the pickup.

She smiled, knowing that the Gods had blessed her stay.

 

\--

 

Ina Stilinski was dark haired and narrow eyed when Claudia walked into the door.

“Well, let me get a look at you,” the old woman declared.

Claudia didn’t know what to do, so she just stood in the doorway and let Ina look her fill.

Johnny moved around her, taking her bag up a flight of stairs off to her right.

“I was hoping…” Ina muttered after a while. “You don’t look much like her.”

Grandma Val, Claudia figured. She shrugged. “I’ve never actually met her. My mother had a picture, but that was a long time ago. I don’t remember what she looks like either.”

Ina gasped. “She never came to visit you? Even after your parents?”

Claudia shook her head. “Mama always said she was worried the curse would get me faster if we were close. Grandma Ivy just said she was afraid of planes.”

The old woman nodded. “She doesn’t travel much since the crash.”

“Crash?” Claudia repeated dumbly.

Ina motioned, and Claudia found herself sitting in an armchair across from Ina, separated by a coffee table.

“I can’t imagine your grandmother would’ve told you. I probably shouldn’t either but I’ve opened my big mouth now. And, well, it’s your history too, isn’t it?”

Claudia nodded.

Johnny came down the stairs, took one look at them, and disappeared through some door off the kitchen without a word. Ina waited for him to be gone.

“It was after your aunt passed, but before your parents got together. Amalie had just decided to stay in Ireland, and Val had gone out to see that she was taken care of. She was only there a few days.

“She was on her way back when she ran into her cousin, Danielle, with her husband. Their children were grown, older than Amalie, and they were on a second honeymoon of sorts, traveling the world. Val was so happy to see them. She was just starting to get paranoid around this time, cutting off communication with everyone, and she hadn’t spoken to her cousin in years. They were getting along splendidly, and then…”

Ina stopped, and Claudia found herself leaning forward.

“When Val first told me about this curse, I thought it was hogwash. I thought she just had a bout of horrible luck. Her father, the miscarriages, then Jean Paul, but eventually…The house staff started going missing, Brienne died, then Flora. It was hard to think of it as anything other than a curse after a while. It was still some distant thing though, ‘Valencia’s curse’, something to be joked about. But when she told me that plane went down…the whole plane?”

Tears were flowing down Ina’s face, “That’s the first time I was truly afraid for her. She hasn’t gotten on a plane since. And we’ve talked so much less. When she called about you, I knew it had to have been urgent.”

“The plane crashed?” Claudia repeated, she couldn’t feel her fingers, her legs.

Ina nodded. “Ten people died. There were thirty four aboard, but Danielle and her husband were among those that passed. Val was in the hospital for two weeks. When she got home, she fired all the staff, sold the big house and all the shops that were left. She moved into some quiet little house in the country. Less people get hurt that way, she figures.”

Claudia couldn’t help herself, she started crying too. She’s known that she was cursed since she was eight. Ivy told her about it as soon as she’d learned about magic, but she’s never known how much her grandmother had been through. She’d been so afraid of it that she’d never put much stock into trying to stop it before.

Johnny lumbered back in from the garage, stopping dead at the sight of them.

“I left you alone for ten minutes, and you’re both crying all over yourselves?!” He exclaimed.

Ina was having none of it. “It’s been a trying time for Claudia! She can cry as much as she wants. You be a gentleman and show her to her room.”

Cowed, Johnny nodded and dropped his head.

Running a hand over her face, Claudia rose to follow him up the stairs.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t the nicest to you at the airport,” Johnny muttered once they’d reached the landing. “You caught me off guard. Wasn’t what I was expecting.” He led her down a long hallway.

Claudia nodded at first, then frowned. “What were you expecting?”

Johnny sighed. “I don’t know. Not you.”

He pushed open a door at the end of the hallway.

The room was much bigger than the one she’d had back home. There was a massive bed dominating it, with a large chest of drawers pressed against the left wall. The bed was flanked by two white nightstands, and a pretty blue armchair on the right.

On the far side of the armchair was another door.

“Bathroom,” Johnny said when she turned to him in question. She nodded. Her bag was resting at the foot of the bed.

“Should be stocked with all the basics. Grandma is around if you need anything. I’m gonna head out, I’ve got a shift in a few hours.”

“What do you do?” Claudia asked absently, still looking around the room in awe.

“I’m a deputy for the Beacon County Sheriff’s Department.”

Claudia gawked at him.

“I’m new,” he added, not meeting her eyes. If she wasn’t mistaken, the tips of his were were flushing red.

“My father was a policeman,” she told him gently.

He met her eyes then. “Really? That’s…huh.”

They stood in silence for a moment.

“I’m gonna…” he motioned towards the door.

“Yes,” she nodded. “Good night.”

 

\--

The sun was shining and the birds were chirping when Ina knocked on her door and told her breakfast was ready. Claudia was still unbelievably tired. She hadn’t slept well the night before, tossing and tuning and thinking about Val.

So when Ina pushed her plate across the table with a mild, “how’d you sleep?” She couldn’t be blamed for blurting out:

“I want to help Grandma Val break the curse.”

Ina took this in stride, sipping at her coffee.

“If anyone could, it’s you,” she nodded.

“What do you mean?"

“Well, you’ve got that mind control magic, don’t you?"

“It’s not _mind control,_ ” Claudia scoffed, but Ina just waved a hand.

“I’m just saying, does it work on yourself? Can you make yourself do things?”

“I,” Claudia paused, “I don’t know. I’ve never tried.”

Ina looked at her, mischief sparkling in her eyes. “Maybe you ought to.”

Later that same afternoon, Claudia put herself to work.

First, she took a nap. At two she told herself, “I’m going to wake up at 4:17.” She poured as

much magic into her voice as she could, but she couldn’t feel the telltale pull that said it was

working.

She tossed and turned, so keyed up from the anticipation that she almost didn’t sleep at all.

But sleep she did, and she blinked at awake at the red glow of her alarm clock reading 4:17.

It could be a fluke, she decided. She had to be _sure_.

So every time she went up the stairs, she told herself to trip on a different one. But…

She collapsed next to Ina that evening with a skinned knee and a headache.

“I don’t know if it’s working,” she huffed.

Ina hummed at her, never taking her eyes off the television. “If you’re telling yourself to fall, dear, I think its working splendidly.”

“But I can’t _tell_. I can’t tell if its magic or just normal self fulfilling prophecy stuff. Normally when the magic’s working, I can tell.”

Ina turned to look at her then. “I suppose you’ll have to tell yourself to something that you’d never do. Something that goes against everything you believe in. Everything you’ve been taught.”

Claudia frowned. “I was taught that magic is a gift from the Gods. That if I go against their will, it could be taken from me.”

Ina nodded. “You’ll have to decide then, how far you want to go.”

Claudia was conflicted. She wanted to help, but she didn’t want to lose herself in the process.

The night grew late, and she found herself in Ina’s backyard, wandering toward the sprawling treeline that marked the Preserve.

The Gods of this forest had welcomed her here. Maybe they’d offer her some guidance.

She walked aimlessly through the woods until she found the stump of an old tree. It was massive. She could easily lay across it, but instead, she knelt in front of it. It felt sacred somehow, like she owed it her respect. This seemed as good a place as any to ask for help.

“Gods of the forest,” she started, uncertain in this new place. “I come to you for guidance. I face an impossible task, and I don’t know which way to go.”

At that moment, a large gray wolf jumped atop the stump, and peered down at her.

Claudia started, but met it’s gaze, recognition dawning. “I know you,” she murmured with a small smile. “You ran by the truck on my way into town.”

The beast tilted it’s head at her, its eyes an otherworldly blue in the light of the quarter moon. Then, it stretched, or it seemed to stretch, body growing larger. It stood up on it’s hind legs, and Claudia was just starting to feel real fear when the hair seemed to vanish from the wolf’s body, and all the sudden, there was a young man, completely naked, were the wolf had just been.

“Hurts like a bitch every time,” he muttered.

“A shapeshifter,” Claudia breathed. She’d only ever heard of them.

“Werewolf, to be specific,” he grinned at her, hopping down from the stump. “How’d you find this thing anyway?” He asked, gesturing.

Claudia shrugged. “I was walking and it was just…there. Why?” She frowned, “is it…should I not have?”

“Well,” the man shrugged, “if you’re going to pray to a tree, this is probably the one to pray to. It’s just normally harder to find. If you don’t know what you’re looking for.”

“Are you,” Claudia stuttered, “are you going to put on any clothes?”

The man laughed. “Would that I could, sweetheart, but I don’t seem to have any around. Wasn’t planning on shifting. But I couldn’t just let you mistake me for a God of the forest. Even I’m not that sacrilegious.”

“Who are you?”

“Ah, how rude of me. Peter Hale,” he held a hand out to shake.

She took it warily. “Claudia McLoughlin.”

“Accent’s nice,” Peter said. “Where you from Claudia?”

“Dublin.”

“And what brings you to little old Beacon Hills?”

“A curse, actually.”

Peter nodded, as if he heard things like this every day. And maybe he did. Claudia’d never met a werewolf before.

“I suppose that’s got something to do with the dilemma you were praying about? I didn’t mean to intrude. My kinds just got better hearing than most.”

She nodded.

Peter sat down on the stump, and patted the space beside him.

Claudia stared at him for a moment, but eventually, she sat.

“Yeah,” she continued on a sigh. “I really don’t know what to do.”

Peter cut her off. “How about we start at the top, huh? Just go ahead and tell Peter all about it.”

So she did. She told him about the curse and her magic. About her badly she wanted to help but how scared she was that she’d do something terrible and her magic would be taken from her forever.

“Lightning from the heart of a wolf, hm?” Peter said, grin playing about his lips.

“I’m pretty sure she meant a real wolf, Peter.” Claudia sighed.

“Oh, right, because that big gray thing was just a figment of your imagination. Obviously.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Well, if they do mean wolves of the nonmagical variety, you won’t be much good to your grandmother here. I’m afraid my kind are the only wolves around.”

“Well, it's a son that’s supposed to do it. That’s how I can help, I figure. If I tell myself to have a son, we’re that much closer. Then, when he’s older, I’ll take him back to France where my grandmother lives. There’s wolves there. I’m just… I can’t tell if the magic is working.”

Peter sat in silence for a moment, thinking.

“Do you trust me?” He asked eventually.

Claudia opened her mouth to say no, and then laughed. “I’ve just told you everything about me, Peter Hale. Every single thing. So I suppose I do.”

“Don’t know your favorite color,” Peter quipped.

‘It’s blue,” she responded, and he smiled at her.

“I have a plan. Come with me.”

“Where exactly are we going?” Claudia asked, trailing behind Peter in the woods. She was hyper aware of the fact that he had on no clothes, and it was the middle of the night.

“To my house,” he called back to her.

“Why?”

“My mother is an Alpha werewolf.” He replied. “She can take memories away from people. So, I figure, we go there. You tell yourself to do something you’d never normally do. My mom takes your memories, so you don’t remember telling yourself to do the thing. You also…probably don’t remember meeting me, or werewolves, because I definitely wasn’t supposed to tell you. Then, tomorrow, you’ll either do the thing or you won’t. I’ll be watching out for you, so if it starts going badly, I can stop you. Then I can tell you whether or not your magic is working. And you said your mojo didn’t work on other magical creatures, so I should be safe from you.”

Claudia stopped. “That’s…that could work.”

“Yes it could, now hurry up.”

 

\--

Aria Hale was the tallest woman Claudia had ever seen. And she was _not_ happy to see them.

“Peter Lucas Hale, what on _earth_ ,” she started, but Peter through his hands up in surrender immediately.

“I found a young mage in the Preserve, seeking the help of the Hale Pack Alpha. She’s lost and scared and she doesn’t know what do to, mom.”

Aria’s eyes moved over to Claudia.

“Are you a mage?”

Claudia nodded. She supposed. “I’ve never been called that before. My grandmother, she taught me everything I know. She called me a spark.”

Aria’s eyes softened. “There is a difference, but few know it. What is it that you need, child?”

“I need you to take a memory from me.”

Aria nodded, stepping down from the porch of the massive Hale house, rolling up the sleeves of her robe. “Which one am I looking for?”

“Um,” Claudia faltered, taking a step back from the rapidly advancing Alpha. “It’s one I haven’t made yet.”

This brought Aria up short. Then she growled. “ _Peter_ …"

“She needs to magic herself and then forget that she magicked herself. Piece of cake. You can do that! Claudia, hurry up!”

“I’m going to compel someone. I’m going to compel someone to be my friend tomorrow. I won’t give them any choice.” She shouted.

Aria nodded. “It will be my responsibility to make sure you release this person, once your task is done.”

Claudia sagged. “ _Thank you_ ,” she whispered. Aria nodded, and started coming closer again

Claudia’s eyes found Peter. “I wish I could remember you. You’re the first friend I’ve made here. And you’ve been kind to me.”

Peter smiled at her for a moment, then rolled his eyes. “Oh _God,_ Mom _,_ she thinks I’m a good friend. Save her. Seriously, save this poor child’s life and take away any memory of me.”

Claudia giggled, and they were still smiling at each other when the world went black.

 

\--

When Claudia woke up her legs were achy and her head hurt.

She also had a strange desire to get out of the house, meet people.

“Where do kids hang out on breaks” She asked Ina over breakfast.

The old woman had smiled at her, “the park. The library. Depends on the kind you’re looking for.”

It was cold out, but the day was clear, so it was easy for Claudia to choose the park.

The first person she saw was a girl working a small coffee cart with dark, curly hair.

She felt drawn to her, so she walked over and bought a hot chocolate.

“I’m Claudia,” she said as she handed over the money, “I just moved here.”

“Melissa,” the girl beamed back, “welcome.”

“I want you to be my friend,” Claudia said, horrifying herself. The phrase was _laced_ with magic, it warmed her words through, the same way her forgotten coca warmed up her cold hands.

And she saw it happen. She saw Melissa eyes glaze over, and then watched the girl nod. “Sure. The cocoa’s not actually that good when it’s cold.”

Claudia nodded dumbly, taking an absent sip.

“I’m off in a couple hours,” the young girl smiled, “if you can meet me back here, I’ll show you around?”

Claudia nodded, forcing a smile, and moved away from the cart.

She was a terrible person. She couldn’t believe she’d just. She’d have to let her go. It’d be weird to do it now, but later. Later, when they met up, she’d tell her that she didn’t _have_ to…she couldn’t believe she’d _made_ someone be her friend! It was _everything_ Grandma Ivy had taught her not to do!!

“You’re going to give yourself a heart attack, honestly. Breathe.” A young man suddenly appeared in front of her with blue eyes.

“I’m,” she frowned at him, “I’m _breathing_. I also have no idea who you are, so if you’d excuse me.” She went to move around him.

“The Gods of the forest,” he said, and she spun back to face him, “Told me to tell you that you’ve been granted your guidance. Your magic obviously works, you’ve convinced yourself to do something you’d never normally do.”

Claudia blinked. “How could you possibly…?”

“Hey, I only do what the Gods command. I don’t ask questions.”

He started to move away.

“I…do I get to know your name?!” She called after him.

“You’re better off without it, little spark,” he called back, with a sad smile.

Before she could formulate a response, he’d vanished into the trees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The formatting on this stresses me out =[


	10. Ch 5: Shane

Shane:

He wasn’t really sure what was happening. Eventually, after some commotion, two of the humans that had walked into the clearing wearing prom clothes had shifted into wolves.

Like him.

The one that had tried to protect him, the light gray one the lady had called Isaac, stayed close. Shane liked it, even as it made him feel guilty. He didn’t deserve it. He wasn’t like these people, these wolves. He was a monster.

But it felt good to run with them. They nipped at each other’s heels and growled playfully at him and he liked it. He wanted to keep it if he could.

They ended up at a big yellow house that smelled vaguely of apples and cookies. The people inside looked nice. The guy was a wolf, like him, he could tell. He was also a doctor, or maybe a vet, he had a bag in his closet that he used to look Shane over, but he knew he was fine.

The lady, though, Shane couldn’t figure out her heartbeat. It was like she had two of them, one slow and steady like regular people, and one lightning fast and faint. Like a squirrel, or a rabbit, or a…

He staggered back as he realized, trying desperately to get towards the door. The big black wolf, the one who’d been in the prom dress, blocked his exit and roared at him. 

It wasn’t like anything he’d ever felt before. He felt pulled, compelled, and the next thing he knew he was crying. Naked, cold, back in his own skin, and sobbing on some stranger’s kitchen floor.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I…” he stopped to breathe.

Isaac strode up next to him, whining as he ducked down to run his cold snout over Shane’s shoulder. It felt good, comforting. He reached up and tangled his hands in the wolf's fur, pulling him closer and crying some more.

The wolf laid down, curling around him protectively, and Shane felt warm, for the first time in weeks. Warm and safe. He fell asleep almost instantly.

When he woke, his wolf pillow was gone, and there was a blanket over him, but he was still on the kitchen floor.

“We didn’t want to move you,” a voice came from above him, and he jumped up to see it.

The man before him was tall, and blonde with soft blue eyes. “I’m Isaac,” he said, holding out a hand, Shane took it warily.

“Shane,” he grunted in response.

Isaac smiled at him. “Nice to meet you. The others are outside, they’re waiting for you. I figured I’d stay here so you wouldn’t wake up alone.”

Shane listened, straining his ears for the double heartbeat before he found it on the upper level of the house.

“Yeah,” he said quickly. “Outside is good.” And he moved toward the door, but not before seeing Isaac’s cocked head and narrowed eyes.

There were more people outside when he opened the door then there had been when he’d fallen asleep. They were all sitting around at picnic tables, talking among themselves and they felt comfortable. Like they’d all known each other a long time.

“Everybody,” Isaac called out from somewhere behind him. “This is Shane.”

A tall woman with light eyes approached him, the same one who’d approached him in the woods. She was also, he was pretty sure, the wolf that had roared at him. She smelled the same, but he wasn’t sure.

She smiled at him, “Hi Shane. I’m Laura,” she said kindly, and he nodded and tried to smile back.

“This is my pack,” she continued, “I’m the Alpha. This is my…this is Lydia,” she stumbled, gesturing to the redhead sitting at the table nearest to her. “and that’s Stiles, and my brother Derek. That’s Boyd, and Erica, Scott, Danny, Danny’s daughter Abby, and you know Isaac.” She listed them off, and they all smiled and waved at him.

Shane backed away slightly, from the young girl, afraid to hurt her.

“What about the pregnant one?” Shane asked quietly.

“That’s Allison,” said the guy with the floppy hair and dark eyes that Laura had called Scott. “She’s my wife.”

Shane nodded, but he didn’t feel any better.

“Would you mind telling us a little bit about you? Here, how about you sit down?” Laura said, motioning for him to sit at the picnic table across from her and Lydia. He did, and Isaac slid in next to him.

“I’m Shane. Shane Michaels. I’m 14. And I…I think I’m some kind of a monster.”

“Oh no,” Laura shook her head. “You’re not a monster. You’re a werewolf, like us.”

Shane swallowed, tried to process. “But I’ve hurt people,” he said slowly. “You guys, you guys don’t look like you hurt people.”

Laura’s face went very serious. “Who did you hurt, Shane?”

“My parents…” he breathed, and he heard the redhead gasp. “But it wasn’t me, really!” He continued, “It was the wolf, it was…and I don’t know how it happened, but they came into my room to check on me, and I couldn’t stop, I just couldn’t stop and I don’t know…” he was crying again, and Isaac had an arm around his shoulder, so he collapsed into the older man’s side.

“How did you become a werewolf, Shane?” Laura asked quietly.

“I thought it was a prank,” Shane hiccupped. “It was Halloween, and I got dared to go into this creepy house by my friends, so I went…and there was this big…doglike thing. And it bit me right here,” he pointed to his side.

“I screamed and I ran home to tell my parents, but by the time I got there it was gone. And, I don’t know, I guess I thought it was part of the prank somehow? I just…I went to sleep. And after that everything was normal. I could hear more, and I was faster but I thought…I don’t know. I didn’t feel different. I thought people were just louder, and slower. I was an idiot.” He shook his head.

“But then one night I just got…mad. I don’t even remember at what, there was just so much, welling up inside me and I just…I became that wolf. And then my parents came up because there’d been a lot of noise and I attacked them. They were so scared of me and they ran and I chased them, I couldn’t stop myself from chasing them and then…” He shuddered to  a stop.

“Then after, I ran. I just stuck to the trees and ran. I don’t know when those guys started following me. I just kept running and running and…”

“Halloween was weeks ago,” he heard someone murmur, and he nodded.

“I’ve been running for a long time. Once I was the wolf I didn’t know how to change back. I don’t know…what month it is, or where I am, or what happened to my family, I just…”

“I think that’s enough,” Isaac growled out, pulling Shane back into his shoulder, where the boy hiccupped out sobs again. He felt so young, and small, and stupid. So stupid.

“Yeah. That’s enough.” Laura, the Alpha, agreed.

“Shane, you can stay with us, for a while, until we get something figured out. We’re going to look into your parents, see what happened to them. For tonight, you’ll stay here, with Scott and Allison.”

At this, Shane jumped up. “The pregnant one? No. I can’t stay here. I can’t be around her. I might hurt her! What if I hurt her, and the baby? I can’t…”

Scott started growling from his table, and Shane couldn’t help but growl back, on instinct. The wolf inside him felt  _ big _ , felt like he could fight this guy, and maybe win.

Laura stood. “Alright. Alright. Maybe you’re right. Maybe that’s not such a good idea. You can come back to the pack house, and stay with us, with me and Boyd and Isaac and Derek. Does that sound good?”

Shane nodded because Isaac was nodding, but the redhead spoke up quietly.

“No. He stays with me.” 

Laura glanced down at her, frowning. “it’d be good for him to stay with wolves, to learn a little bit about,”

“He can do all that tomorrow,” Lydia snapped, cutting her off. “but you are in danger. Everyone in that house with you is in danger, so he needs to stay with me.”

Laura huffed and opened her mouth to argue, but Stiles piped up from the corner, “She’s never wrong, Laur. Never.”

The Alpha just sort of collapsed on herself. She plastered on a bright smile. “Fine. Shane would you mind going to wait in the living room for a while, we’ve got some stuff we need to talk about?”

Shane agreed warily, trailing back up the staircase and settling on the couch in the living room.

He was still tired, though, and he found himself dozing off as he waited.

 

Laura:

“Alright you guys,” she sighed. “What do you want to do about this.”

“He can’t stay,” Erica spat immediately. Laura saw Stiles wince at the venom in her voice.

“There’s entirely too much going on right now for us to start taking care of some out of control, murderous fourteen year old.”

Isaac growled, sharply, “So you want us to do what? Set him out into the woods to die? Is that how your pack does things?”

“The way my pack does things has kept us safe for eight years, you self righteous prick. The way  _ your _ pack does things, brings random hunter wars and endangers my  _ family _ .”

“Erica,” Stiles murmured, and she quieted down for a moment.

“Lydia, what do you think?” Stiles asked in the resulting quiet.

“I don’t think we’re the safest place for him right now. Two packs just merged, still getting used to each other, with a conflict on our hands already? There’s a lot of confusion. We’re not going to be able to treat him with the care his situation deserves.”

“Speak for yourself,” Isaac snapped.

Laura’s eyes flew to him, “What the hell is up with you?” She asked, and all heads turned toward him.

“He’s…you remember when you bit me? I was just like that. I was just like him. I was lost and alone and I thought I was a monster, and you took me in. Because that’s what you do. He needs us, Laur.”

“Isaac,” she sighed, “the circumstances weren’t quite the same. But I understand what you’re saying. Stiles, what do you think?”

Stiles shrugged. “I’m with Isaac, actually. We might not be the safest place for him, but what’s the alternative? We set him loose?”

“I could try to place him,” Danny murmured. But Stiles shook his head.

“How long would that take? That’s always been a slow process, Danny. Ferrying people back and forth, meeting on neutral ground, making sure smells and temperaments work out. We don’t have time. And our territory is on lock down, regardless. We can’t have bystanders coming here from other packs, not with the threat of the Argents out there. We can’t have their blood on our hands as well. So either we keep him, or we cut him loose to fend for himself. And I’m not really comfortable letting him go.”

“He’s a liability,” Erica muttered, and Scott nodded agreement. “He has no control. He’s a danger to Allison, to Abby.”

“Oh bullshit,” Boyd piped up for the first time. “he tried to run out of the house when he found out Allison was pregnant, he won’t go anywhere near Abby. He’s terrified of himself, he doesn’t want to hurt anybody. That’s clear.”

“But that doesn’t change the fact that he’s got no control, he  _ could _ hurt someone.” Scott insisted.   

“Any of us  _ could _ hurt someone. “ Stiles asserted. “The fact of the matter is he’s a werewolf, and he needs a pack. Scott, you remember when it was just you? How thrilled you were when you found out Jackson was bit too? It was awful, but it was better because you had someone to share it with. And Erica, for all your bullshit, do you remember what your life was like before the pack?”

“That’s different,” she murmured.

“It’s not,” Stiles shook his head. “That’s a kid. Like Abby. Like the child Allison’s going to have. And whatever dangers are coming our way, we’re not so heartless that we leave children to die to cover our own asses. He’s in our territory, so we’ll protect him. Just like we’ll protect Abby, and Allison. Because that’s what we do. It’s what we  _ all _ do.” He finished, and Laura was filled with pride. This was her second. This was her pack, this big beautiful group of spirited and talented people were loyal to her

“I don’t deserve you guys,” she whispered.

Erica looked up at her, eyes flashing. “No. You really don’t.”   

The blonde pushed herself up from her picnic table, prepared to stalk off, and shot a glance at Boyd.

“You coming?” She asked.

“I stand with my Alpha. You and me? Just the sex, remember?”

The yard went quiet. Erica radiated hurt, Laura even thought she smelled the fresh salt of tears, before the blonde nodded and sped around to the front of the house.

“I’m sorry,” Isaac said into the silence, “are you saying you had sex with her  _ in my room _ , just to fuck it up the next day? What the hell is wrong with you?”

Boyd stayed stone still and quiet, probably until Erica was out of hearing range, before sagging in on himself. He ran a tired hand over his face.

“I like you, Boyd, I really do, but it’s taking a lot for me to punch you in the jaw right now. And all I’d do is break my hand. I know that. I’ve learned that lesson. But I really wanna do it anyway.” Stiles muttered.

Lydia was almost vibrating with anger, eyes stabbing into Boyd as they all sat watching him.

“While I appreciate what you just did,” Laura said quietly, “You should probably go fix it.”

Boyd’s eyes sliced up to hers, incredulous.

“It’s always going to be hard, choosing between your mate and your Alpha. But if there’s one thing I know, it’s that an Alpha that would ask you to go against your mate isn’t an Alpha worth having. You have to stand with her.”

“She’s all bluster anyway,” Danny pitched in. “She’d never abandon a kid. Once, she adopted eight kittens just because she couldn’t stand the idea of them being separated.”

“I…” Boyd started, before breaking into a hearty laugh. “What happened to the kittens?”

“Her apartment threatened to put her out, they live with our parents now,” Scott said, gesturing to Stiles.

Her first beta rose, sighing as he trudged out of the yard after his mate.

“I want to get Shane home,” Lydia said, and Laura nodded.

“Of course. We should set up a protection run around your house, just in case the hunters after him had friends.”

“I’ll do it,” Isaac piped up, and Laura nodded. She wasn’t sure what to make of Isaac’s protective instincts just yet, but for now they were working in the pack’s favor, so she let it be.

“Derek, would you make sure Stiles gets home?” Lydia called across the lawn, and both of the boy's’ eyes widened.

“What?  _ Why?  _ I can take care of myself.” Stiles sputtered. Derek nodded beside him.

Lydia looked at Laura imploringly and, dammit, if that woman wanted something, Laura was going to do everything in her power to make sure she got it.

“Um…Stiles’ nap time,” she managed, though it was strained.

“I have work to do, I don’t have time to sit around and do nothing with  _ him _ ,” Stiles spat. The words put a splash of hurt in the air, obviously coming from Derek. Laura frowned.

“I cannot think of anything, at the moment, more important than your health and safety, Stiles. Which is why I’m not  _ asking _ you to go home and rest. I’m telling you.”  Laura said firmly, simultaneously basking in the glow of Lydia’s approval.

“I…fine. Fine. C’mon, Hale. Jesus, this is ridiculous,” Stiles ranted, shoving himself away from the table.

Isaac jogged into the house, coming back out with Shane in a bridal carry. “Lead the way,” he said to Lydia, with a soft smile on his face.

The redhead started to walk back out towards the car, but Laura couldn’t help but wrap a hand around her wrist. “Hey,” she said softly.

Lydia turned to look at her.

“I’m going to call you, later. I feel like we need to talk?”

The other woman nodded, tugging her wrist gently from Laura’s hold.

“Danny, you and Abby can crash here if you want,” Scott said easily. “I’m going to bed with my wife. Laura, you staying?”

She shook her head, “No, I’m headed home. Thanks for letting us use your house,” she said.

Scott nodded, tired. “Anything for the pack.”

 

\--------

 

“Lydia’s scheming. Do you have any idea why Lydia’s scheming?” Stiles ranted as they pulled into his apartment complex.

Derek swallowed nervously. “No, can’t think of anything.”

Stiles’ eyes narrowed. “Great. Now you’re lying too. Fantastic. Two days ago I was respected in this pack, I’ll have you know. People told me things. It took a long time, convincing a bunch of brand new werewolves to listen to me. I have a dog whistle. But no, two days, your sister, and the whole things gone to shit. And I should’ve expected it, honestly. Anywhere Laura Hale goes, chaos follows, right?”

He’s cut off by Derek’s massive arm around his waist.

“There’s someone up there.”

“…It’s an apartment building?”

Derek’s warning growl rocked through him, and Stiles suddenly realized how close they were, Derek’s front pressed up against his back, arm notched snugly around him.

“You apartment. There’s…I think Kate’s in your apartment. We should go.” He started to tug Stiles backwards.

“Oh, ho ho no. No no no. Crazy murder Argent doesn’t get to run me out of my apartment. Not without a fight.” He snapped, pulling out of Derek's arms and up the stairs towards his home.

The lock was busted, which only served to further anger Stiles.

“I’m the police, lady. Show some damn respect,” he said, pushing his door open to find a slinky blonde sitting in his favorite chair.

“Subtlety’s never really been my strong suit, sugar. Sorry,” she smiled at him, and it sort of made him want to puke.

“Ugh. Don’t do that anymore. Is there a reason you’re in my house?” He asked, leaning up against the door jamb with his arms crossed.

Derek skidded to a stop behind him, growling with intent as he stepped into the apartment.

Kate, draped in a red sweater and black leather pants, ignored him completely. She stroked the black baton in her lap.

“Everyone knows when you want to deal with a werewolf pack, you have to start with the weakest link,” she stopped to wink at Derek, “isn’t that right, puppy?”

Derek took a menacing step forward, and this time it was Stiles’ turn to put a hand out to stop him.

_ Kate laughing, breasts bared over him, cunt tight and wet around him, crooning, “you're just a little monster. Isn’t that right, puppy?” _

_ “just for you,” Derek huffed out, voice sounding impossibly young, hands turning to claws, clenched tight at her hips. _

Stiles came out of it gasping, hands still on Derek, feeling his fury, but mostly his shame.

He was buzzing, or the air around him was. Stiles could feel it, all the power surging through the room.

Kate rose, baton flaring, “So one of you is going to tell me where Laura is, or we’re going to play a rather unpleasant little game.”

There was a loud crack, and all the lights went out in the apartment, Kate’s baton went dead.

In Stiles’ palm was a pulsing, blue ball of electricity. It crackled against his palm, but didn’t hurt him.

He looked at it, then up at Kate, who was blinking rapidly in the direction of Stiles’ hand.

“You wanna play?” Stiles said, and he sounded dangerous even to himself, “let's play.”

Kate dropped the baton, put her hands up in surrender, though nothing about her looked surrendered. “I may have made a mistake.” She said, smile still clinging to her lips. “This obviously doesn’t end tonight.” She started inching towards the door. Stiles moved, dragging Derek along with him, to let her.

“No, it doesn’t. Not if you want it to end in your favor. And just so you know,” Stiles flicked his wrist at her, the ball moving in her direction before being drawn back. “This pack doesn’t have any weak links.”

Kate scurried out of the apartment, and Stiles waited until he heard the roar of a car engine, the screech of tires on cement, before he let himself collapse.

 

Lydia:

For the first time since high school, Lydia Martin was sitting on her bed, waiting for her phone to ring.

She paced back and forth in her bedroom, before sneaking out to peek in on Shane. The kid slept like a rock. A spot of white outside his window drew her attention. Stepping closer, she saw Isaac, in wolf form, curled up on her deck in a tight ball.

“Jesus,” she muttered, going around to her back door and sliding it open, quietly.

“Isaac,” she hissed, and the wolf’s head came up slowly, sleepy.

“Get in the house! It’s freezing out here.”

Isaac loped in quietly, sitting just inside the door patiently as she closed and locked it behind him.

“Wait here, I’ve probably got some clothes here you can fit.”

She moved into the spare room where Shane was sleeping, rifling through the drawers till she found some old sweats and a tshirt of Stiles’.

“Might be a little snug,” she said tossing the clothes down. She noticed the mud caked into his paws and grimaced. “I expect you to clean up after yourself. There’s sheets and blankets on the couch.”

The vibration of her phone on her nightstand startled her. “I've gotta get that,” she said, “let me know if you need anything.”

She walked quickly back into her bedroom, taking a deep breath before she answered the phone.

“Took you long enough,” she breathed, and dammit, she did not sound disapproving enough.

“That the best you got, Red?”

“Don’t,”  _ call me that _ , she started to say, but she was smiling. “Fine, whatever. You can have it.”     

“Small miracles,” Laura responded dryly, and Lydia let herself chuckle.

They were quiet for a moment, just listening to each other breathe, before Lydia spoke again.

“I’m sorry. For the way I acted earlier.” She said.

She heard Laura’s deep breath. “I’m sorry too. For Jackson. It  _ was _ an abuse of my power to ambush him that way. It was petty. It was childish. You’re never wrong.”

Lydia found herself smiling. “It’s good to see you’re catching on.”

She waited a beat. “I can’t do this, Laura. Especially not now.” 

“Do I get to know why?”

Lydia sighed. She tried not to influence the future. But she couldn’t think of any way around this conversation that didn’t end in Laura knowing. And, at the bottom of it, Lydia  _ wanted _ her to know.

“Because you die.”

“…You think I die.”

“No, I  **know** you die. I’ve seen you die every single night since my sophomore year of college. You die. And I can’t let myself get close to someone knowing… _ knowing _ that they’re going to die.”

“We’re all gonna die at some point, Red.”

“You’re going to die looking exactly the way you look right now.”

“Wolves age slower than humans?”

“You think this is  _ funny _ ? You were the first person I ever saw die, did you know that? I was sick about it, for weeks. Told everyone I had the flu. I was terrified of going to sleep, drank so much coffee I made myself sick all over again. Just because I couldn’t stand to see you die. In a dream. Before I knew who you were. And now you’re here. And you’re my Alpha, and you’re still going to fucking die. And you’re joking about it.”

The line was quiet for awhile.

“Say that again.” Laura’s voice was intense, and it sent a completely unwarranted flutter through Lydia’s stomach.

“What?”

“Tell me I’m your Alpha again.”

“You…you’re insufferable, you know that? Of course you’re my Alpha.”

“No. Not of course. I’m  _ the _ Alpha. I’m Alpha to the wolves. I’m not Alpha to you, or Stiles, or Allison, or Danny. There’s no reason to call me  _ your _ Alpha.”

Lydia didn’t have an answer to that because Laura was right. She could just refer to Laura as the Alpha and not be out of line in the slightest. But, “it feels wrong to call you anything else.”

There was a soft growl from Laura’s end of the line. “What else do you see?”

“What?”

“When you dream of me? What else do you see, other than me dying? Do you see my hands on you? My mouth?”

“This is…you cannot seriously be trying to,”

“They tell me you’re never wrong. So just tell me I get to put my hands on you once before I die. Tell me that.”

“You don’t.” She tried.

Laura laughed. “Lie. What do you see, Red? Do I get to taste you? Do I get to open you up on my hand?”

“The vision’s not…you aren’t doing anything in it.” She said, pausing. The implication hung heavy in the air.

“Oh yeah? So what are  _ you _ doing?”

“Laura…”

“Just tell me where, Red.”

“I…your breasts, okay? This is wildly inappropriate.”

“I’m pierced there. On the right side. Did your vision tell you that?”

Lydia shivered, resisted the urge to lay down on the bed, because that would make this way too close to phone sex. And she was entirely too old for phone sex.

“I was on your left, so no.”

“Hmm. I’ll have to show you sometime..” 

Just then there was a knock at the door. “Um, if you guys are done being disgusting?”

Lydia sighed. “Come on,” she said, and the door pushed open a little. Isaac stood there, looking ridiculous in Stiles’ sweats and shirt, both too small for him.

“Hey Lydia, d’you mind if I have some of this cereal?” he asked easily.

“Yeah, sure.”  

“Cool,” he nodded, closing the door behind him.

“That the kid?” Laura asked.

“No, that’s Isaac. He was camped on my patio, so I brought him in, he’s crashing on the couch for the night.”

“We really gotta get to the bottom of what it is with him and this kid.”

“Do we? Does it matter? He cares. We keep the kid. Let him have something.”

“I want to know what's going on with my betas, Lydia. I don’t think that’s a bad thing.”

“It’s not. But, d’you ever think, I mean. You came here and got me, Boyd got Erica, Derek got Stiles…”

“Did I get you? Wait, Derek and Stiles?  _ That’s  _ why you’ve been trying to throw them together?”

“I don’t understand how you can say you want to know what’s going on with your betas and miss the fact that your brother’s head over heels. It’s a little pathetic actually.”

“I…weren’t we talking about Isaac?”

“Yes, we were. You guys came here and everybody mated. Everybody. All Isaac got is Shane. It’s kinda like Danny and Abigail in that way. Danny’s been single for ages, and every time we try and set him up, it never works out. But he fell for Abby about two minutes after meeting her. They’re inseparable. Let him have this, if it’s what he wants.”

“Yes, dear.”

“Oh, I like the sound of that very much.”

“You’re going to be insufferable, aren’t you?”

“It’s the last wish of a dying Alpha.”   

All of the sudden, Lydia went hot and tense.

“Red, Derek’s on the other line, do you want to wait or…?”

“Something’s wrong. Answer it. Call me back when you know what it is.”

 

Laura:

“Derek, what’s wrong?”

“It’s Stiles. It’s…Kate is here. They’re here. Stiles collapsed. He made a lightning ball in his hand, Laur. I don’t know what to do, I’m at his apartment.”

“We’re coming, Der. Take him into the bedroom. Lock all the doors.”

“The front doors busted, we’re not safe here, Laura. I need to get him out of here.”

“No. Get him to his bedroom. Stay where you are. Protect your mate, Derek.”

There was a whimper on the other side of the line, and Laura sighed as she disconnected.

Her war had finally reached Beacon Hills, for better or for worse.  


	11. Interlude: Claudia II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, if I start posting this on time, worry. Like, "have you been replaced by a pod person" levels of worry.

**Dec 1987**

Claudia met with Melissa long enough to tell her that she didn’t  _ have _ to be her friend, before informing her that something had come up and she had to go home early.

“Hey!” Melissa had said, much to her surprise, and she’d written her home phone number down on the palm of Claudia’s hand.

“I know we don’t  _ have _ to be friends,” she explained quickly, “but we can still hang out or whatever. I can introduce you to some people, show you where everything is.”

Claudia nodded. “That sounds nice.”

That night, Claudia stood in the bathroom before bed, and looked at herself in the mirror.

“I’m going to give birth to a son,” she said, with a smile on her face.

And she went to sleep knowing that it would come to pass.

\--

Johnny came around on the weekends to help Ina with odd jobs around the house. The front door was warped, so Ina was having Johnny replace it. California was unreasonably warm for winter, Claudia thought. It was almost painful to watch Johnny sweat as he lifted the door out of the frame.

Claudia presented him with a glass of lemonade. “Here,” she said, shoving it in his face. “I’m getting heat stroke just looking at you.”

It was truer than she wanted it to be. He was big, and strong looking, and it made her…warm. But it didn’t matter because he was older than her, he had a job and an apartment downtown, and she was just some schoolgirl from Ireland that he was forced to be nice to.

“Thanks, Cee,” he said easily, drinking it down.

“You want more?” She asked when he’d drained the glass, but he shook his head.

“Nah, that’s enough for now. I might be back later though.” He grinned.

She ran upstairs, grabbing the phone as she went. Flopping on her bed, she dialed Melissa.

As soon as the girl was on the line, she blurted, “Tell me everything you know about Johnny Stilinski.”

There was a pause. “…Your cousin?”

“My…I don’t have any cousins. Why do you think he’s my cousin?” Claudia accused.

“…You moved in with his grandmother? She’s telling everyone you’re her niece.” Melissa explained slowly, like she was talking to a child.

“I’m! Oh, hell.” Claudia sighed, running a hand over her face.

“So he’s not your cousin?”

“ _ No _ . My grandmother and Ina have been friends since they were kids. She agreed to take me in because my parents are dead.”

“And you’re into Johnny?”

“I don’t know. He’s cute, right?” Claudia flopped down on the bed, twirling the phone cord around her finger.

“He’s literally the hottest thing around town. Well, I mean, it’s debatable, but he’s definitely in the running. Him and Peter and I mean. And Elliot Anderson, but he’s off the market.”

“But what about, like, as a  _ person _ ?”

“He did alright in school. Played football, quarterback. Captain, obviously. Got into a couple of the state schools but didn’t go. Went straight to the academy. Came home from Sacramento on all his breaks to check up on Ina, fix anything she needed fixing. Got his shield and came right back here. He volunteers at soup kitchens, helps old ladies across the street. He’s perfect.”

“He can’t be  _ perfect _ .” Claudia sighed.

“When you find something wrong with him, be sure to let me know.”

“So he’s seeing someone then?”

There was a pause. “I don’t think so. He’d been dating a girl named Katie on and off, but she moved last summer. I haven’t seen him with anyone since. I can ask around if you want?”

“That’d be great.”

“Hey Cee?”

“Yeah?”

“If you’re trying to get your hooks into Johnny, you should probably tell Ina to stop making everyone think you’re related? That puts him in a super awkward situation. Especially since he’s older.”

“How old  _ is _ he, anyway?”

“Twenty two.”

Claudia cursed inwardly. The age gap was daunting. Her father had been four years older than her mother, but maybe that was special circumstances.

“He’ll never go for it. He’s a policeman. He’s an officer of the law. He can’t date a sixteen year old.”

“Katie was only nineteen.” Melissa tried.

“Nineteen is  _ legal _ .”

“Well, I mean. It’s not illegal to  _ date _ you. It’s just illegal to…y’know… _ do _ stuff with you.”

“Right. So there’s that, on top of the fact that everyone thinks I’m his cousin.”

“…Pretty much.”

“This is hopeless,” Claudia groused, stuffing her face into her pillow for a moment.

“You’re gonna try anyway, though, right?”

Claudia grinned. “Probably, yeah.”

“Good. Hey, I gotta go get started on dinner, but we’ll talk later.”

They said their goodbyes and Claudia hung up the phone, huffing at the ceiling.  

\--

Later that week, Claudia found herself headed to the library, trying to find something to keep her entertained while Melissa was at work.

On her way in, she noticed a tall boy (man?) with dark hair pushing himself off the wall and following behind her. It was the same man from the park.

“Who are you?” She hissed as they stepped inside the library, glancing around to make sure her volume was acceptable.

He laughed at her, not censoring himself at all, and earned an irritated shush from the librarian. She got a smug wave in reply.

“So feisty, little spark. Don’t worry. I come in peace.”

“Answer my question or leave me alone.” Claudia whispered, crossing her arms over her chest.

A throat cleared behind them, and the man slid off to one side gracefully as a disgruntled library patron shouldered past him into the door.

“Peter Hale,” he held his hand out. Claudia looked at it warily before reaching out to shake. This was Peter Hale? Melissa had said he was one of the most attractive men in town. Which she could see, easily, but he was  _ weird _ .

“Claudia,” she started.

“McLoughlin,” he finished, a bright smile overcoming his face.

Claudia snatched her hand back. “How could you possibly know that?”

“Gods of the Forest,” he offered, making a circular motion with his hand.

The young girl’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t think I believe you,” she told him, arms crossed over her chest again.

He grinned at her. “You shouldn’t. You should never trust me, little spark.”

“Okkkayyyy,” Claudia nodded sharply, before turning on her heel and walking away.

Peter fell into step beside her.

“So,” he smiled, “looking for anything in particular?”

“Why are you following me?”

“I like you, Claudia.”

“I don’t know if I should be flattered or appalled.”

“Bit of both is the general consensus.”

Claudia chuckled against her will.

“Are you always this…”

“Yes,” Peter nodded sagely.

“ _ Why _ ?”

“It’s  _ fun _ , Claudia.”

“I think you and I might have different definitions.”

“Fair,” Peter allowed.

He snagged her arm and led her to a table, sitting her down and sliding in across from her.

“So tell me everything. How’s Beacon Hills treating you so far? Made any friends? See any boys you like?”

“We are in a  _ library,  _ Peter. This is  _ not _ the time for this conversation.”

“Then come to coffee with me,” he smiled.

Claudia blew out a deep breath. “You’re not going to let me get anything done, are you?”

He shook his head eagerly.

“Fine.”

Dragging herself up from the table, she trekked back out of the library, Peter following behind her like a puppy.

\--

Later that night, Claudia collapsed on her bed, smiling.

Strangely, she and Peter had a very nice afternoon. He’d gotten her tea and a pastry at the local coffee shop, and they’d talked about books, how Claudia and Melissa’s friendship was going, her apprehension about starting American school in the fall. He’d given her a more official walking tour of the town, smiling and introducing her to people.

She noticed that people in town never really knew what to do with Peter, all their smiles were nervous, their waves awkward. She also noticed that Peter seemed to enjoy it immensely.  At the end of the day, he’d given her his number. He’d taken both of her hands in his and looked her dead in the eye.

“If you ever need anything, I’m at your service, little spark.”

She nodded. It was strangely formal, and easily the most somber he’d been the whole day.

The doorbell rang.

“Claudia!” Ina called from somewhere in the house, “could you get that?”

Sighing, Claudia pushed up off the bed and ran down to answer the door. Checking the peephole, she saw it was Johnny. She swung the door open with a smile.

“Hi!” She beamed, but faltered when she saw Johnny’s face. His eyes were hard and his mouth was set in a grim line.

‘What’s wrong?”

“I…it’s probably nothing. I just…I noticed you were making friends. With Peter Hale.”

Claudia nodded. “Yeah. Peter’s been very nice to me since I got here.”

“You didn’t just meet him today?”

She shook her head. “Over the weekend.”

Johnny sighed. “He’s too old for you, Cee.”

“Oh, I actually didn’t get his age. How old is he?”

“He’s nineteen. You didn’t get his age? Does he know how old  _ you _ are?”

“I have no idea. I guess I could call him and ask?”

Somehow, Johnny seemed to get  _ more _ tense. “You all talk on the phone often?”

“No, we exchanged numbers today after coffee.”

“Coffee,” Johnny muttered.

Claudia didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t understand exactly what Johnny was upset about, but she could tell that he was.

“I don’t understand what the problem is?” She asked.

He shook his head. “No problem. There’s no problem. I just…like I said, it’s nothing. I just wanted to make sure…I don’t know. I don’t know. Look, it’s fine, Claudia. It’s good. You’re making friends. That’s good. Just…be careful. Stay safe.”

She nodded slowly.

“Good. Good. Night, Cee. Tell my grandmother I said goodnight too.”

He turned sharply and jogged down the porch stairs, sliding into the truck and peeling from the house at a speed unbecoming of a police officer.

Claudia closed the door, walking back upstairs to her room. She picked up the phone and called Melissa’s number.

“Something weird just happened,” she said, when Melissa was on the line.

“Weird like you spending the entire day with Peter Hale after you told me you were into Johnny?”

“He’s just a friend!” Claudia cried. “But Johnny’s being weird about it.”

“Weird how?”

“He came over to ask if I was hanging out with him. He asked if we talked on the phone a lot—“

“ _ Do you?!”  _ Melissa squeaked.

“No,” Claudia stressed, “But when I tried to explain that he just got weirder. He was flustered, stuttering. I’ve never seen him like that.”

Melissa hummed. “He sounds jealous.”

“ _ Jealous?!” _ Now it was Claudia’s turn to squeak. “Of  _ what _ ?”

“Peter, obviously.” Melissa scoffed. “I told you he’s another one of the hottest guys around. You’ve got insane luck, girl. People are going to hate you.”

Claudia brushed this off. “You think Johnny’s jealous of my friendship with Peter?”

“Did you tell him  _ specifically _ that you were just friends?”

“Well…no.”

“Then I think Johnny’s jealous because he thinks you’re dating Peter.”

Claudia sat in silence for a moment, letting this revelation wash over her before breaking out in a grin.

“Melissa I’ll call you back.” She said hurriedly, pressing the phone back into the cradle.

She picked it up again immediately, dialing the number Peter had given her.

“Hale Residence,” a woman’s voice answered.

“Yes, hello. I’d like to speak to Peter, if that’s alright?”

“PETER! THERE’S A GIRL ON THE PHONE FOR YOU!”

A moment later, Peter’s voice came on the line. “I’ve got it Tally,” he said easily.

He waited until he heard the line click.

“May I ask who’s calling?”

“Oh! It’s Claudia. Sorry. Just me. Just Claudia.”

“Little spark,” Peter said smoothly. “I didn’t expect you to call so soon. Is everything alright?”

“Yes. I just…do you want to cause some trouble with me?”

“Of course,” he replied, like he didn’t even have to think about it.

Claudia’s grin grew.

\--

John:

Usually, it took quite a bit to upset Johnny Stilinski. But since Claudia had arrived, it seemed he was on a hair trigger.

First, there was the whole cousins business. It itched under his skin, the idea of people thinking they were related, until he was practically going door to door making it known that she was a family friend, not his cousin. No relation.

He didn’t know what was worse, the men who looked at him like he was crazy, or the women who sent him knowing smiles and nodded in support. His own grandmother had laughed at him when he’d mentioned it to her.

“I didn’t think it’d bother you so much.” She waved him off. And Johnny had been furious. Not so much over the dismissal, more the fact that he hadn’t expected it to bother him so much either.

Then, just as he got the cousins thing under control, Claudia goes out and starts dating Peter fucking Hale of all people. Peter Hale. Who was probably psychotic, but no one could be sure. That whole family was weird, hidden out in the woods, so many of them living together. It was strange.

Talia was nice, though. Elliot had been captain of the football team the John’s junior year, so John had seen her often enough. And Jacob was nice. He was quiet, like he’d been through a lot, but nice.

Aria Hale, though, was  _ scary _ . And Peter had taken after her.

Johnny realized, dimly, that he was being ridiculous and overprotective. Especially since, according to  _ everyone _ in town, Peter was treating Claudia with the utmost respect. They went to coffee and movies and sometimes hung out at the library or took hikes through the preserve. Sometimes he even came to Ina’s, and they watched movies on the couch in the living room while she made them cookies.

Peter Hale had sat on his grandmother’s couch and eaten his grandmother’s cookies with  _ his _ …

Not cousin. Because that’s all Claudia was to him at the end of the day. Some girl that he’d gone through all the trouble of convincing everyone wasn’t his cousin, just so he could do absolutely nothing about it.

This frustration welled up in him for weeks, and came to a head one pretty Saturday afternoon while he was weeding his grandmother’s garden.

Peter Hale swung in through the front gate like he owned the place, nodding at Johnny on his knees in the garden.

“Stilinski,” he said smoothly, stopping before he could move up the stairs to the porch.

“Hale,” Johnny bit back.“You being good to her?”

Peter snorted. “The big brother routine, Johnny? Come on. We both know why you’re really concerned.”

Johnny inhaled slowly and pushed himself up off the ground. “Save it Hale. Where are you taking her today?” He asked, brushing dirt off on his jeans.

“Movies,” Peter shrugged, leaning up against a fence post. “Hike through the preserve. Then a picnic at Mulligan Point.” He had the nerve to grin and wiggle his eyebrows.

He didn’t remember getting angry, no more so than he had been lately. And he didn’t remember moving at all.  But all the sudden he had Peter Hale by the throat, pressed up against the side of the house, and he was furious. 

Somehow, Peter was still laughing at him, barely even out of breath even though Johnny was putting entirely too much pressure on his throat.

Claudia and Ina rushed outside at the commotion. 

“Johnathan! That is  _ enough _ , you let him go.” Ina called, her voice firm in a way it almost never was. 

Johnny could hear her, knew she was talking, but couldn’t quite parse what she said. 

“A picnic blanket,” he hissed. “She deserves better than--”

This seems to send Peter into a fresh round of hysterics. 

“Ah, so you’ve thought about it then? What she deserves? How it should be?” He grinned, entirely too smug for someone who’s being  _ strangled _ . 

Johnny came back to himself all at once. He yanked his hand back, took an entire step back, then another, until he was stumbling down the porch stairs. Peter had doubled over against the house, and was making quite a show of catching his breath. 

His eyes moved quickly to his grandmother, and Claudia. They were both watching him, Claudia’s eyes wide, his grandmother’s narrow. 

“I’m…” he started, but what on earth could he possibly say? 

Deciding against it entirely, he hurried out of the yard, and into his truck. He drove up the block and around the corner before he pulled over the the side of the road, pressing his head against the steering wheel. 

“Shit,” he murmured shakily. 

A tap on the passenger side window jolted him out of his panic attack. When he looked up, Tabitha Wheeler was smiling politely through the window, gardening gloves in hand. 

Johnny dutifully rolled the window down. 

“Are you alright, dear?” she asked.He focused very hard on smiling, and not letting the smile turn into a grimace. 

“I’m fine, Mrs. Wheeler. Just got a little overheated in the sun, cooling myself down a bit.” 

It was the wrong thing to say. 

“Oh, no! We can’t have Beacon Hill’s finest passing out from the heat, now can we? Come on in the house, and I’ll fix you something to drink.” 

“No,” he said quickly, then smiled again to soften it. “No thank you, ma’am. I’m actually on my way home now, to lie down and rest.” 

This, she liked better. She nodded seriously. “You do that, Johnny.” 

Plastering on a smile on his face, he pulled off again.

Claudia: 

Ina was spitting mad, breathing more heavily than Claudia had ever seen. 

“I’ve let this little game you two are playing go on long enough,” She said, eyes moving back and forth between Claudia and Peter. “But this is too far. Fix it.” 

She spun on her heel and slammed back into the house. 

“What...what have you  _ done _ , Peter?” Claudia asked, dumbfounded. 

He just shrugged, brushing imaginary dirt from his shoulder. “A less than subtle nudge in the right direction, little spark.” He adjusted his collar from where Johnny had pulled it askew. “Mrs. Stilinski is right, though, our time together has come to an end. You stay here today, and I’ll plan a spectacular break up for us day after tomorrow. You’ll be dumping me, of course.” He grinned rakishly at her, “Everyone knows I’m a scoundrel.” 

She huffed out a laugh. “You’re not, you know,” she said, hoping he could feel her sincerity. 

He often could. 

And maybe he could this time, but he wasn't showing it. He just grinned again, lopsided and dangerous. “Oh, I am.” He laughed. 

Gliding down the porch steps with all the grace Johnny had lacked, he meandered down the steps, towards his car. 

He paused at the gate, gaze focused uncannily across the street. Claudia didn’t see anything, but then Peter waved, and a shadow disappeared back inside the house. They were all watching, Claudia realized. All of their neighbors had seen the incident. Claudia flushed violently before letting herself back into the house. 

\--

“No, seriously, girls at school are going to murder you. Johnny Stilinski and Peter Hale got into a fight over you on your doorstep. That’s ridiculous. It’s like something out of a John Hughes movie.” 

“I don’t know who that is,” Claudia murmured. She was propped up against the headboard of her bed, legs curled beneath her, looking out of the window. There wasn’t anything to see, night had long since fallen. The whole spectacle that afternoon had just unsettled her so. Seeing Johnny behave so violently had worried her. She hadn’t meant to push him that far. She’d called Melissa as a sounding board, but her friend just seemed to be caught up in the drama of it all. 

“You don’t know who John Hughes is?! Do they not watch movies in Ireland?” 

“I didn’t. Didn’t have very many friends outside my grandmother. And Becca. Oh, the one in Pink, right? Pretty in Pink?” 

“Yes! And The Breakfast Club, and Sixteen Candles. Tell me you’ve seen them.” 

“I’ve seen them,” Claudia nodded. “There’s a redheaded girl in them. Not Irish, but redheaded. Becca was obsessed. This…” she sighed heavily, “this doesn’t feel very much like that.” 

Melissa went quiet, introspective. “No, I guess it doesn’t. I guess things would look easier, or more fun in movies.” 

They were quiet on the line for a little while, both breathing. 

“I think I might’ve gone too far, Mel.” Claudia said quietly, briefly thinking of the way her father used to talk to her mother. 

_ I think I may have had too much, Mel _ , he’d grin after one too many ales. And her mother would roll her eyes at him fondly,  _ so  _ fondly, and help him to bed. 

“I think I may have ruined everything.” 

A tear spilled over her cheek, and before she knew it, she was crying. Sobbing for her parents and her grandmother and the stupid, stupid curse that made everything so big when it should just be normal. 

“Why can’t I just be normal?!” She cried aloud. Still clutching the phone to her cheek. 

Ina appeared in her doorway, tsking. “Lets have that now, dear.” She said, taking the phone from Claudia’s hand. 

“Melissa?” She said, “Yes, dear, she’ll be alright. I’ll have her call you when she’s feeling a bit better.” 

Hanging the phone up, she sat down on the bed next to Claudia, who had downgraded to sniffles at this point.

“I’m a horrible person,” she lamented. 

“Far from it,” Ina said, firmly. “You’re a teenage girl, love. You don’t always make the best decisions. That’s normal. And you’ve found yourself a friend in Peter Hale of all people, so just assume an extra heap of trouble’s going to come with that.” 

“He’s not that bad,” she muttered. 

Ina chuckled. “Never thought I’d see the day. You’re a horrible person but  _ Peter Hale’s _ not that bad? The boys a menace, Claudia. And I don’t mean that in the hoity toity way some of the women in town do. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with a young man getting into a little trouble now and again. That doesn’t change the fact that he’s a menace. And  _ you _ are not a horrible person.” 

“I’ve manipulated your grandson,” Claudia pointed out. “I’ve lied, haven’t I? And I’ve...I’m in league with one of the most disliked people in town. And I’ve used him, I’ve  _ conspired _ with him to drive your grandson insane. That’s horrible.” 

Ina hummed. “You two did a marvelous job of it, too. I’ve never seen the boy so riled.” 

“You enjoy this entirely too much,” Claudia huffed. 

Ina laughed at this. “Maybe I do. Maybe  _ I’m _ a horrible person. Try that on for size. In the meantime, Johnny’s the forgiving sort. He’ll calm down a bit, and he’ll come apologize for upsetting you. He won’t be apologizing to Peter, but that’s….well that’s men. They have their pride.” 

“I miss my father,” Claudia sniffled.

“I don’t imagine he’d have let you get away with this sort of thing?” 

“No,” Claudia laughed. “No, he wouldn’t have. But he’d have liked Johnny. They’re alike, in a way.” 

They both startled at the sound of footsteps on the stairs. 

“What’d I tell you?” Ina grinned, nudging Claudia. “You could set a clock by my boy.” 

Sure enough, Johnny was hesitating at the door a few minutes later, looking at his shoes. 

“Stand up straight, young man,” Ina commanded. Johnny straightened up instantly, finally looking at the pair of them, taking in Claudia’s red rimmed eyes. 

“What’d he do?” He asked, face hardening. “What did he do to you, Claudia, I’ll kill him, I’ll--” 

“You’ve done quite enough violence for one day, I think.” Ina said. “A woman is entitled to a good cry without a man murdering someone over it.” 

Johnny looked down again, chagrined. 

Claudia reached over to her bedside table for a tissue, tried to blow her nose without sounding like a foghorn, and failed. Briefly, she wished she could just be swallowed whole. Just for a little while. She could come back when this whole mess had blown over. Five, ten years at the most. 

She took a deep breath, and looked at Johnny again. “We need to talk,” she said. Her voice was still hoarse from the crying, but it was firm. 

He nodded, still looking at the ground. 

“You’ll look at me when you talk to me, Johnathan.” She tried for the same military command as Ina. She fell short, but he looked up all the same. 

Ina clapped. “Well, it seems you two have this under control. I’ll be downstairs.”

She rose from the bed, patting Johnny on the shoulder on her way out. 

“No canoodling in the house,” she said, pointing back and forth between the two of them before sailing back downstairs. 

Johnny stared after her in shock. 

“There’ll be no canoodling, I’ll have you know.” Claudia said.

Johnny turned back to her, snorting. 

“There’s nothing funny about that.” 

“No, it’s...your accent. It’s thicker now than it normally is.” 

Claudia shrugged. “It’s ‘cause I’ve been crying.” 

“Why?” Johnny asked stepping into the room. He hesitated near the bed before opting for the desk chair instead. “Was it Peter? I won’t...obviously I’m not going to kill anyone. And I’m sorry about earlier, I just...I lost it.” 

“I manipulated you,” Claudia said morosely, nodding her head. “I was never dating Peter.” 

“You went on multiple dates with Peter. Movies, dinner, hiking. I saw you. Dating.” 

“Well, sure, if you want to be technical, we went on quite a few dates. But never because we were interested in each other. I wanted to…” She took a deep breath, steeled herself. “I wanted to make you jealous. And Peter, well….” 

"Peter Hale is a jackass," Johnny grumbled. 

Claudia smiled.

"He really isn't," she sighed, turning to face him fully. “He’s a good friend, with a penchant for trouble. And when I asked him for help, he helped me.” 

Johnny rolled the desk chair a little closer to her. "I can't imagine being friends with Peter Hale. But...if it works for you guys..." he shrugged, still fidgeting with his nails. 

"Does Peter know? About your..." he waved his hand vaguely. 

She nodded, smiling a little. "Yes, Peter knows about my," she waved her hand similarly. 

"How'd he take it?" 

She shrugged. "He knew without me telling him. It doesn't work on him. I think that's a reason we're so close. It's freeing, not having to worry about it when I'm with someone. I have to always have my guard up otherwise." 

"It doesn't work on me, either." Johnny said, looking at her intensely. She swallowed. 

"I know." 

"And we're......close too, aren't we?" 

"Yes." 

"You feel comfortable around me?" 

She barked a laugh. "Not quite." 

"Yeah, me either." He ducked his head, smiling ruefully up at her. It wasn't fair. 

"You're young, Cee. You're really young." He murmured, reaching out to grab ahold of her hand. 

"I'm not that young." Their voices had lowered, the moment felt hushed somehow. 

"Yeah," he chucked a little, "You are. And I shouldn't be doing this. But, God, it makes me nuts. It makes me fucking insane to imagine Peter Hale being closer to you than me. I don't know that I can...I almost killed the kid. In front of my  _ grandmother _ , for just...I'm a mess. You shouldn't be anywhere near me." 

"I don't think that's...you're a good man, Johnny." Claudia tried. 

"Good men don't do this. Good men don't feel the way I feel about...you're a  _ kid _ , Cee. And you've been through so much and I'm...I'm taking advantage. I know I am." 

"This isn't attractive, I'll have you know." Claudia snapped, surprising herself. "I'm not fond of this picture you're painting of me, where I'm some idiot damsel you're taking advantage of. I'm not some stupid country bumpkin fell under your spell, Johnny Stilinski, you came slinking into my bedroom here. Maybe I'm the one taking advantage of you." 

"People are going to think...." 

"To hell with what people think!" She cried, standing. 

"Cee..." 

"To hell with it!" She tried again, for the first time realizing that she might be out on this ledge all by herself. 

Johnny was quiet for a long while, long enough that Claudia started to feel awkward, before he made a frustrated sound and stood up, towering over her. 

"To hell with it," he murmured, cupping her face as he leaned in to kiss her. 

The kiss was sweet, and slow, and over too quickly. 

They had just pulled apart when Ina yelled, "No canoodling in the house!!" 

They met each other's eyes and collapsed into giggles. 

\--- 

They took it slow. 

Johnny was wary, he worried for his reputation in the town. 

“I’ve lived here my whole life, Cee, “ He’d told her one night, quietly. “I can’t help but give a shit what people her think about me.” 

Claudia didn’t have those attachments, but she wanted them, and she understood a dedication to maintaining them. Plus, she’d thought, she had everything she wanted. Johnny was everything she wanted.

So they took it slow. 

Mostly, they just hung out at the house. It wasn’t suspicious for a young man to visit his grandmother. Johnny breathed in a sigh of contentment. Now it was him, sitting on his grandmother’s couch, eating his grandmother’s cookies, with his Claudia. 

His Claudia. 

Every now and then, though, Claudia itched for a date. When that happened, Johnny took her out to the movies, with Melissa in tow. To the casual observer, it appeared Johnny had been roped into supervising teenage girls. Under Ina’s watchful eye, though, Melissa was supervising them. 

Johnny chafed under it, but Claudia was content. Sometimes she just wanted to hold Johnny Stilinski’s hand in a dark movie theatre. To lay her head on his shoulder. 

Beacon Hills changed slowly for them. School was still school. Claudia got by, but she wasn’t winning any awards. 

At a football game, early in their senior year, Melissa met a player from an opposing team named Rafael. Her parents immediately disapproved. Claudia did too, if she thought about it. But she was happy and she wanted her best friend to be happy, too. She helped them carry on a secret relationship for most of the year. 

Peter was still, strangely, around. They went on less outings now (she would never get Johnny comfortable with Peter), but on one such occasion that they did, Peter revealed to her he was at college in Los Angeles. He came home most weekends and holidays. 

“I prefer it here,” he mused over coffee. “It’s horribly,  _ horribly _ pedestrian, but it’s home. There are less people pretending here. And less for them to pretend about.” 

Graduation brought new, faster changes. Melissa and Rafael ran off the weekend after their graduation party. Claudia got a postcard from Melissa, postmarked Tucson, saying they’d been married in Las Vegas, and Rafael was considering West Point, or Annapolis. Melissa had always had good grades, and been a hard worker, so she was sure she’d find work somewhere along the way. Claudia missed her terribly, but wished her well. 

She and Johnny became more demonstrative of their relationship in public, to the surprise of absolutely no one. It seemed that, despite their stealth, everyone had known about them. Tabitha Wheeler said it was the gleam in Johnny’s eyes that gave him away. 

And Peter, the storied scoundrel of Beacon Hills, brought a girl home from college. 

He was almost bashful when he introduced them. 

“Claudia,” he said, “this is Persephone.” He beamed at her. “I’m hoping to convince her to spend the rest of her life with me.” 

Claudia’s heart swelled. To see Peter affected this way by someone was so special to her. 

“Seph, this is Claudia, my honorary little sister,” he then said, shattering the moment. 

“I am no such thing!” She cried, and Peter grinned at her. 

“See? She sounds exactly how little sisters are supposed to sound.” 

Claudia huffed, manfully resisting the urge to stick her tongue out. Persephone giggled at them. 

“He’ll tell you he’s a scoundrel,” Claudia said, smiling, “and that’s not true. He  _ is _ , however, an  _ ass.”  _

Peter smiled. “She knows me so well,” he nodded. 

“I’ve brought her to meet the family, and you.” He supplied, and Claudia smiled to hide her surprise. 

“Well it’s a pleasure to meet you. I hope to see you around more.” 

“I plan on it,” Persephone replied, voice brimming with confidence. Peter’s smiled faltered a bit. 

“Yes, if the Hale brood doesn’t scare her off. Claudia’s never even met them all.” 

She nodded. “That’s true. He does keep me pretty sequestered.” 

“I’m sure I can handle it,” Persephone responded, leaning into Peter. His hand tightened around her middle, holding on. 

Her eighteenth birthday came and went. The leaves changed. She started waiting for John to propose. He was John now, ever since Sheriff Donnelly had clapped him on the shoulder and said, “You’re a good man, John. I wouldn’t be surprised if you took the whole operation over one day.” 

He’d been on a cloud for weeks. 

“I just don’t get it,” Claudia whined to Ina one day, while baking cookies. Ina had started them, but she grew tired easier these days, and so she’d stopped to rest in the middle. Claudia had quietly taken over. 

“He’s a man, Claudia. They work on their own time,” Ina mused, basking in the sunlight. 

“But what if he’s having doubts? Or second thoughts? He wants to be Sheriff one day, will the age gap reflect poorly on him? Maybe that’s why he won’t.” 

“You’re young, Claudia.” 

“I’m eighteen!” 

“Yes, you are exactly the legal age to get married in America. Plenty of people would call that too young. What if you start at the college and meet a nice young boy your age and change your mind?” 

Claudia scoffed. “Change my mind?! I’ve been half mad over Johnathan Stilinski since I got here, why on earth would I change my mind?” 

“He’s the only person you’ve ever dated.”

“I could’ve just as easily rode off into the sunset with Peter Hale, now couldn’t I?” 

“I’m just saying, Claudia,” Ina soothed, “that there are plenty of reasons why he might think you need more time.” 

“Plenty of reasons if you’re a fool,” Claudia muttered. Ina laughed. “Well, he’s a man. There’s not much difference.” 

She found herself feelings spoiled and ungrateful because, when she stopped expecting a proposal -- in the moments where she let herself forget, everything was  _ perfect _ with John. 

There were moments where she couldn’t tell who she was more frustrated with: him or herself. 

When this happened, she’d take long strolls through the woods to calm herself down. She found, inevitably, a large, flat tree trunk. Normally, she sat on top of it. Today, Peter was there. Crying. 

Before she could open her mouth to speak, he was looking at her. “How is it,” he said slowly, sniffling, “that you always find this fucking tree?” 

Claudia paused. “What’s happened?” 

He hunched over, not meeting her eyes. “Persephone left.” 

“What? Why? I’m sure it’ll blow over. The two of you seemed so happy together.” 

He snorted. “No. She’s not coming back. I’m...I’m a monster, and she’s left me.” 

“What have I told you about talking about yourself that way?” Claudia snapped. “You are not a monster, Peter Hale. You are decent, and kind, and -- oh!”

She stumbled to a stop, because Peter’s face had changed. Gone are the smooth, attractive features she’d come to know. In their place are a ridged brow, a glow to his eyes, and teeth, sharp, sharp teeth. His ears were pointed. He was like nothing she’d ever seen before. 

“A shapeshifter?” She breathed, and he nodded miserably at her. 

“But you’re still…” she took a step closer, reached out as though to touch. “You’re still Peter, aren’t you?” 

He nodded again. 

She nodded back, mirroring him without thinking about it. 

“Then I stand by what I’ve said before. You are no monster. You may be something people don’t understand but, honestly Peter, people don’t understand you without all the dramatics.” 

Peter huffed something that sounded like a laugh, and slowly his face faded back to normal. 

“If only Persephone agreed with you.” 

“Persephone is a fool, Peter.” Claudia said gently. 

He growled his disagreement. 

“You’ll watch your growling at me, sir.” She snapped in reply. 

Peter deflated. He rose from the stump and moved to walk away. Claudia stared after him dumbly. After a few steps, he turned his head back to look at her. “Aren’t you coming?” 

She stumbled a step forward. “Coming where?” 

He chuckled. “I’ve just told you my family’s deepest, darkest secret. Again. So you’ll have to meet my mother.” He paused. “Again.” 

Again, she thought, but didn’t say it aloud. Peter had always been two steps ahead of her. She shouldn’t be surprised. 

They trekked through the forest until they reached a large house. She’d never seen the Hale house before. It looked like a part of the forest that surrounded it. In a different setting, it might have been called a mansion, but here it just looked like an extension of the landscape. Something the earth had provided to shelter a different kind of life. 

She couldn’t help but crane her neck up to the top of the house, following a step behind Peter as he led her in. 

“It’s big,” she said, for lack of anything else. 

“It suits,” Peter hummed, in the tone of someone who was so accustomed to his luxuries, he couldn’t understand why they’d matter to anyone else. 

Inside the house was chaos. There were children running, at least four of them that Claudia could see. Aggressive music was playing from somewhere upstairs, there was a television on in the main room, another one running in the kitchen, she noticed as they walked by it. 

Peter seemed immune to it all. He navigated around furniture, and children, and legos on the floor without any thought, guiding Claudia further into the house. 

FInally, they reached a semi deserted hallway, at the end of which were two double doors. The racket from the main section of the house was still audible from here, but dimmer. 

Peter kept walking, knocking twice before pushing the large doors open. Claudia paused a few steps behind him, nervous for reasons that she couldn’t put her finger on. 

“It’s alright, little spark,” Peter murmured to her. He still looked awful, but he smiled at her, and gestured her into the room. 

Aria Hale was sitting in a very comfortable looking green chair, parked in front of a fireplace. There was a throw over the back of the chair that she wasn’t using. Her legs were tucked up under her, and both of her hands cradled a large cup. She was blowing on it as they walked in. 

“Ah, Claudia. It’s good to see you. Peter, what have you done?” She asked, her voice was calm, though, easy, as though Peter causing trouble was just a part of her everyday life. Claudia imagined it might be. Still, it made her feel defensive, as Peter’s shoulders slumped ever further. 

She stepped deeper into the room, bringing herself to stand in front of him. “He’s let me know that you’re shapeshifters.” She said, chin tilted up. Peter laughed at her, just a little. 

Aria’s eyebrows arched. “Just now? Peter! The girl should’ve known a year ago! You’ve just…” 

She sighed. “Nevermind. Come on in, Claudia. I’m sure you have questions.” 

\-- 

The Hales were werewolves. Apparently, she’d known that before, but Aria Hale had taken her memory away. Because that was a thing Alpha werewolves could do. 

“So...Peter knows about the curse because I  _ told _ him about the curse. I just don’t remember telling him?” Claudia asked. It felt like something out of The Twilight Zone. For some reason, the existence of werewolves didn’t bother her at all, but the idea that her memories had been stolen from her was off putting. 

“Yes.” Aria confirmed. She hesitated for a moment. “Wolves are able to sense emotions, based on scent. It can be a little invasive, so we try not to mention it but...your scent. You’re not afraid, which is good, but you’re not comfortable either.” 

Claudia huffed again. At least now she knew how Peter was always so accurately able to sense her mood. 

“I’m not afraid of you. I just don’t like that you took my memories away from me. And I don’t understand,” she turned to Peter, “I don’t understand why you didn’t  _ tell _ me. We’re friends, aren’t we?” 

Peter had the grace to look ashamed. 

Aria spoke up. “Part of this can be rectified. If you’d like, I can give you the memory back. It wasn’t my idea to take it, it was yours, and Peter’s. Hopefully, seeing it,  _ remembering _ it, will put you at ease a little.” 

Claudia nodded hastily. 

Aria motioned to a spot on the floor in front of her chair, indicating that Claudia kneel there, which she did. The Alpha brushed her hair to one side, to access the back of her neck. 

“This will hurt,” she murmured, and she waited for Claudia to mumble out her consent before pushing her claws into the delicate flesh. 

Claudia blacked out. 

\--

She was on a bed when she woke up, Peter sitting in a chair next to her, holding her hand. 

“How long?” She grumbled, voice hoarse. 

“Only a few minutes,” he responded. “We just thought you’d be more comfortable if you had a chance to lay down.” 

She nodded, pushing herself up onto her elbows. 

“Do you remember?” Peter asked. 

She thought back and she realized that she did. She’d wanted to help Val, but she couldn’t tell if her magic was working. She magicked herself and took the memory, so she knew it worked. Peter had come to tell her, he’d watched to make sure it worked, and told her one way or another what was happening. It all made sense, now that she remembered it, and she felt better having the memory back. 

“Yes, but I still don’t understand why you didn’t tell me.” 

He sighed. “I had a good feeling about you. You have every reason to be sympathetic, being what you are. It’s not that I didn’t trust you. But I wasn’t sure about Ina. And I still don’t trust Johnny Stilinski. I was worried, especially after the little stunt we pulled, that he would do anything in his power to bring me down. And it’s not just me, Cee, you have to understand. It’s my family. My whole family.” 

Claudia was taken aback. “John  _ wouldn’t _ , he doesn’t...he plays fair. He wouldn’t...that’s cheating. And he knows about me, about my magic.” 

“Claudia. I understand that  _ you _ trust him. And I trust you, I do. I didn’t tell you because I wanted to be sure that you wouldn’t tell him if I asked you not to. Persephone,” he paused for a moment, swallowed. “Persephone loved me. Right up until she found out what I was. And then she ran, screaming, from my house. And I’ll probably never see her again. Your boyfriend doesn’t love me. Do you understand? There are people who kill my kind, just for being what they are.” 

She nodded dumbly. Her kind, too. They day they’d covered the Salem witch trials in school, she’d gotten so upset that she’d been sick. They’d had to send her home. Ina had stroked her hair and told her everything would be alright, but she couldn’t offer any true comfort. She wished she’d discussed it with Ivy before it was too late. 

“You have to promise, Claudia. You have to promise that you won’t tell him. That you won’t tell anyone. You have to swear it. You have to...you have to bind yourself to it.” He said, firmly. 

“Peter...he  _ wouldn’t _ .” 

“If we’re not sure, my mother will have to take the memories again. It’s not...we don’t  _ want _ to Claudia. But you have to understand that keeping my family safe is more important than your boyfriend. You have to understand that.” 

She nodded. Peter was one of her closest friends. And she understood the fear, the worry that people would hunt you and kill you and burn you alive because they didn’t understand. She thought of Aria, who was firm and kind. She thought of the children running through the house, and the kind of life they deserved. 

“I promise,” she said, lacing her voice with magic, “I promise I’ll never tell anyone that you’re werewolves.” 

\--

She spent the rest of the afternoon with the Hales, getting to know them. She met Talia, who had Aria’s quiet assurance. She’d be Alpha next, Peter told her, and Claudia believed it. She was huge with child, and her husband Elliot doted on her the entire afternoon. They didn’t know what they were having, werewolf pregnancies apparently hindered the equipment that determined sex, so they’d be surprised when the baby was born. 

There were aunts and uncles and nieces and nephews and dozens and dozens of cousins. Claudia had never been around so many people in one place at one time, but she somehow felt safe and comfortable. Even after Peter had wandered away to find solitude, she was content to sit on the couch, lumped between members of the family, and watch whatever banality was on the television. 

She spent the majority of the summer with the Hales, when she wasn’t with John. They showed her the wonders of the preserve where they lived, hidden ponds and meadows and glens where deer lived. 

“They won’t come near us,” Talia told her once, holding a four week old Laura in her arms. “They know that we’re dangerous. That we’re predators.” 

But after a time, they would come sit with Claudia as she read in the glen, sunlight dappling the grass. She felt like something out of a fairy tale, surrounded by family and love, and she adored it. 

She felt less guilty about her promise every day. 

\--

John proposed on her nineteenth birthday. She gladly accepted. 

\--

**Mar 1993**

Rain fell in sheets the day they lowered Ina Stilinski into the ground. There’d been a lovely service, with an orthodox rabbi extolling the many virtues of Mrs. Stilinski. Beacon Hills’ most prominent families had come out to her funeral: The Whittemores, the Martins, even the Hales. Aria Hale had commanded all the attention in the room as soon as she’d walked into the church, her black dress stiff and formal. Talia and Peter had come with her, Talia always to her right, Peter her left. Peter caught her eye and winked at her. She huffed. It was entirely inappropriate for the venue. But, that pretty much summed up Peter. Entirely inappropriate, regardless of the venue. 

The caravan from the church to the cemetery was long, and as Claudia glanced out the car window, it seemed that all of Beacon Hills had closed down. Even people she didn’t remember seeing at the church had signs in the windows of their businesses. It filled her heart with joy to see it, to know that people had loved and respected Ina the way she had. 

Once the casket had been lowered, flowers thrown into the hole, the crowd started to disperse. Soon, it was just Ina, and Johnny, and the Hales. 

Johnny watched, bereaved, as they started shoveling in dirt to cover the casket. 

“I think,” he started, “I think I’m going to head into the station, see if there’s anything that needs to be done there.” 

Claudia stared at him. “There’s the wake, John, there’ll be people wanting to pay their respects.” 

“I can’t...I don’t know that I can handle that right now. I need to be working. I need to be doing something useful.” 

“I imagine Ina would think being respectful to her mourners was useful.” Claudia said, not unkindly. 

“Ina is--” He cut himself off abruptly. “She’s not here. Ina’s not here. She’s the only family I had left, and she’s gone.” 

“You’ve got me,” Claudia tried, knowing it wasn’t what he wanted to hear. 

He surprised her, though, by tilting her chin up and pressing a sweet kiss to her lips. “I know.” 

They stood there, in silence for a moment, before he huffed. “Fine. I’ll, we’ll go to the house and we’ll talk to people. I don’t know how long I’ll be able to stand it, but I’ll try.” 

She nodded, pleased. 

“I think your other family would like to have a word with you,” Johnny smirked, tilting his head towards the Hales. 

“I wish you would get to know them a little better,” Claudia whined. It had been a point of contention between them for quite some time. 

“They don’t like me.” Johnny sighed. 

“That’s because they think you don’t like  _ them _ ,” Claudia insisted. 

Johnny shrugged. “I don’t like them. They’re strange, don’t you think, Claudia? All of them, in that house, keeping to themselves, all the time?” 

“They don’t keep to themselves all the time. Talia works for the mayor. Peter’s a lawyer. They grocery shop and the kids go to school. They live like normal people, John.” 

“They don't, Cee, and you know it. You just won’t tell me why. And that’s fine.” he rushed out before she could argue. “I’ll be in the car.” 

She watched him walk away before making her way over to the Hales. 

“Hello. Did you need something?” She asked. She noticed, now that she was closer, that Aria looked grave and tired. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, dear. And yes, we do need something.” 

“This is entirely inappropriate,” Peter groused. 

“We need your help,” Talia interjected. 

Claudia looked at them all: The tired resignation in Aria’s stance, the firm determination in Talia’s. Peter was frowning, which he almost never did, lines furrowing his brow, denting the corners of his mouth. 

“What do you need?” 

Aria sighed. “We have an intruder. A trespasser from a rival pack that’s been sent to spy on us, see if we have any weaknesses for his pack to move in on.” 

Claudia was startled. She’d never seen any sort of violence from werewolves since she’d been here, with the exception of a little rough housing. “I don’t understand how I can help.” 

“We were hoping you could...persuade him into leaving, and telling his pack that there’s nothing to see here, no weaknesses to exploit.” 

“It won’t work, my magic doesn’t work on werewolves.” 

“He’s not a werewolf, he’s a pack human, sent to spy.” 

“Packs have humans?” Claudia asked, shocked. 

Peter chuckled. “Well, we have you, don’t we?” 

She blinked. “Yes. Yes, I suppose you do. You can’t just take his memory?” 

“That would hurt him, it could be considered an assault, and if his Alpha found out, it would only accelerate war. What you do doesn’t hurt. You would just have to have a conversation with him. Human to human.” 

“I suppose I could try.” 

“Excellent, he’ll be at the wake.” 

“Why?” 

“He’s spying on us, Claudia. He’s going everywhere we go. He’s been here for almost a month. He’s taken over the veterinarian's office in town.” 

“Dr. Deaton?!” 

“Yes, but we have reason to believe that’s not his real name. There’s no reason to be afraid, Claudia.” Aria stressed, “that’s why we’re here. It’s why we’ve stayed close to you, today, it’d be easy for someone to try and hurt you in the commotion. We’re here with you now, and we’ll be at the wake. We just need for you to have a conversation.” 

Claudia nodded. “I’ll try. There’s no way of knowing if...it doesn’t work on John, and I don’t know why.” 

Aria nodded. “We’ve considered that, but at the moment, you’re our best hope, Claudia.” 

She nodded. 

\--

The wake was awkward, to say the least. John was stiff, nodding and shaking hands, ashen and iron faced. Claudia was nervous, smiling and laughing too loud, fidgeting and moving.

She wasn’t proud to say that she ran. She went to hide in the downstairs powder room, to breathe and get herself together. 

When she was ready, she opened the door, and Alan Deaton was standing on the other side of it. 

“You’d like to speak to me.” The man said. 

“Would I?” She arched an eyebrow. The man before her was calm and collected. His stance was easy. Claudia was glad for her time alone, she would hate to end up in this situation without having had the moment to breathe. 

“I imagine the Hales would’ve told you by now that I’m dangerous.” Alan shrugged. 

“Are you?” 

“Are you just going to keep doing that?” 

“You sought me out. You mentioned the Hales. You mentioned that you were dangerous. The ball is in your court here. Say what you came here to say.” She pushed magic into that last sentence. 

Deaton blinked. “Ah, I see that I’ve come too late. I was hoping to be the Hale pack emissary, but it seems they already have one.” 

She shook her head. “I’m not...that.” 

“Not their emissary? But they sent you to deal with what a human threat, when they were afraid of retaliation.” 

There’d been a moment when Claudia had the upper hand in this conversation, but it had passed. 

“The Hales are important to me. They’ve asked me for help, and I’m helping. If you’re not a threat, and you’d like to help as well, there’s no need for all the skulking around you’ve been doing. Approach them directly.” 

At that exact moment, Peter came around the corner to join them in the little hall. “Is there something I can help you with, Druid?” 

Claudia didn’t know what a Druid was, but she knew that her head was starting to her hurt and she was tired of this conversation. 

“I’m going to go check on John,” she murmured, squeezing past Peter and back out into the living room. 

When she reached John’s side, he clung to her like a lifeline. “You were gone for a while,” he mused offhandedly. 

“I was talking to the new veterinarian.” She responded. 

John frowned. “I don’t think Ina knew him.” 

She just shrugged. Luckily, the Whittemores approached them at that very moment, and she had an excuse to smile and change the subject. 

Peter found her about a half hour later. Guests were starting to trickle out, and Claudia was wondering how soon she could start cleaning without being rude. She hated how black and miserable everything was.

“Is it all settled, then?” She asked, feeling Peter hovering at her side. 

“Not quite. I’d like to ask you something.” 

She hummed at him, eyes tracking John through the room. He was cracking open his third beer. She’d never seen him drink like this. 

“It’s important, Cee.” 

Blinking, she turned to face Peter. “Of course, I’m being rude. I’m sorry. What is it?”

“You’re not being rude. You’re never rude. We’ve commandeered your mother in law’s wake for pack business.  _ We _ ’ _ re  _ being rude. But it’s urgent.” 

“It’s fine, Peter. What’s wrong?” 

He sighed. “The Druid wasn’t wrong. You should be our emissary. You know the land, you know us, you have a vested interest in protecting us, and us you. The relationship between you and the pack is exactly what it should be. We’d be forcing it with Deaton.” 

“I don’t know what being an emissary entails.” 

Peter chuckled. “That’s because you’re you. My mother was talking to Talia about the difference between sparks and mages and druids. Druids are mostly human. They link themselves to magical creature and they’re magic is bolstered by the relationship. In turn, they use that magic to protect the magical creature. It’s symbiotic. But a spark. You connect to the land and the creatures on it without even thinking of it. I was drawn to you the first day you drove through town. You were drawn to the Nemeton. You feed deer in the Preserve, Claudia, you’re perfect.” 

John laughed, too loud, and it occurred to Claudia that he may actually be drunk. 

“Don’t worry about him,” Peter said quietly. 

“He is my husband, and his grandmother just died,” Claudia hissed, “I am always worried about him.” 

He flinched. “I just meant, he’ll sit down in a chair soon and nod off. He won’t cause a scene. He’s not that kind of drunk.” 

Claudia’s eyes widened. “He’s not  _ any _ kind of drunk, thank you very much.” 

“Maybe not here. Not with you. But that the bar, after hard shifts? I’ve seen him. Talia’s seen him. It’s not a secret, Cee.” 

“All the more reason I can’t accept your offer. My husband needs me. And you dislike my husband. It wouldn’t do for me to split my loyalties that way. If the time came that I needed to choose…” 

“You would choose your husband.” Peter nodded. 

“If I could just tell him.” 

“I don’t trust him, Claudia.” 

“You trust  _ me _ , Peter. How can you trust me to protect your whole pack, protect the land, but still think I have such terrible instincts about the man I married?” 

“The man with the drinking problem you didn’t know about?”

“You mind your tongue, Peter Hale!” 

Heads around them turned. And Claudia drew in a shaky breath. “You didn’t see anything, you didn’t hear anything.” She murmured, and saw the change in the room. 

Talia materialized at Peter’s side. 

“It’s done, Peter” she murmured. “You tried, but it’s done.” 

John, true to Peter’s prediction, had sat down in the armchair near the fireplace and was dozing, beer gripped loosely in his hand. 

“You deserve better,” Peter said. 

“Get out of my house,” she breathed, pushing all the magic she could muster into it. 

People around the house started rising, gathering their things. She turned away from Peter, plastering on a smile to say goodbye to the guests, walking with them toward the door. 

When the Hales approached the door, Peter walked past without looking at her. Aria stopped and gripped her hand. “It was a mistake for us to come to you today, and I’m sorry for that. You have done us a great service, and we’re thankful. We’re eternally in your debt, Claudia.” 

Claudia nodded, helpless against the earnestness in Aria’s tone. “I will always help you where I can, and I will  _ always _ protect your secret, but I cannot be your emissary.” 

The Alpha looked sad, but nodded, walking slowly down the front porch steps and out to her waiting car. She caught a glimpse of the grim line of Peter’s mouth as they pulled away. 

“I, too, owe you a debt.” 

She startled to find Alan Deaton standing in front of her. “I don’t know what I would’ve done, if the Hales hadn’t accepted my offer. Theirs is a powerful protection, and I likely would’ve died without it. I owe you my life.” 

“You don’t.” Claudia urged. 

Alan chuckled. “I do. And when the time comes that you need me, I’ll be ready. Goodnight, Claudia.” 

He let himself out, and she closed the door softly behind him. 

Moving across the room, she stopped at the armchair where her husband slept, pulling the empty beer bottle from out of his hand. She pushed his hair back from where it had fallen on his forehead. 

“Don’t drink anymore,” she whispered. And she pushed, and pushed, but the magic wasn’t there. 

So she poured all the beer down the sink. 

\--

Over the next few months, Alan settled in as the Hale Pack Emissary. He had been training to be Emissary to the pack he’d been born into, but it had recently been taken over by less than savory characters. 

“They’ve brainwashed my younger sister, made her think that subjugation and werewolf superiority are things the rest of the world is missing out on.” He’d lamented to Claudia one day. “I stayed for longer than I should have, trying to convince her to come with me. But they caught me the first time I tried to run.” He lifted up his sleeve to reveal a long, jagged scar. “And I realized she’d been feeding them any information I was giving her.” He shrugged. “I hope that one day I’ll be part of a pack strong enough to save her, or a pack strong enough to protect her if she saves herself.” 

Claudia couldn’t imagine losing her family that way. But it made her think of Val, all alone in France, waiting for Claudia to change her fate. 

\--

Claudia had been sick for four days. 

“I think you should go to the hospital,” John said, sitting on the bathroom floor, back pressed against the tub as she lay her head against the toilet seat. “You’re not keeping anything down, Cee, not even water. You don’t have a cough, or a fever.” 

She groaned. 

“I’d have to get dressed, make myself presentable. I couldn’t just show up at the hospital this way. I’m a disaster.” 

“I’ll wait until you fall asleep and carry you there, if you want.” He shrugged. 

“I don’t  _ want  _ to go.” She insisted. 

“Is it a magic thing?” He asked. “Should I call Peter?” 

That’s when Claudia knew he must really be worried. It was 1994, and the animosity between John and Peter had never really settled. Claudia secretly thought Peter found it funny, and kept it up just for the sake of egging John on. But John’s misgivings were firm. 

“What’s Peter going to do?” She asked warily. 

John huffed. “I don’t know! I know you guys talk about it sometimes, the magic stuff. I know you’re more comfortable talking about it with them than you are with me. I’m sure it has something to do with how strange they are in general. And I know you won’t tell me!” He cried, as she opened her mouth. “It’s fine. If they’ve trusted you with a secret and you can’t tell me, it’s fine. I know you’d tell me if I were in danger, if it were important. But you’re sick, Claudia. I’ve never seen you like this. And if I need to call Peter to get you to go to the doctor--” 

He was interrupted by her retching into the commode again. When she opened her eyes, she knew this was a losing argument. The toilet water was dusty pink with blood. 

John’s face turned grim. 

“We’re going, Cee.” 

“Alright,” she nodded weakly. “I’ll go.” 

\--

“Well,” the doctor said, looming over her in a hospital bed. “I’ve got good news and I’ve got bad news.” 

John’s mouth was set in a grim line. He didn’t have time for games. “Bad news first.” 

“The bad news is that you’ve torn the lining in your stomach, just a bit, from all the vomiting. We’re going to keep you here overnight, give you some intravenous anti-nausea medication. You’re sorely dehydrated, so there’s mostly saline in the IV, there. We’ll see if we can get you hydrated, and maybe help you keep some food down while your stomach heals.” 

Claudia nodded, eyes still bleary from crying and exhaustion. “The good news?” 

“Well, there’s a bit more bad news first. It doesn’t look like this vomiting is going away any time soon.” 

“What’s wrong with me?” She asked, seriously.

“You’re pregnant, Mrs. Stilinski.” 

She wrinkled her nose. “Call me Claudia, Mrs. Stilinski was...wait. What did you say?” 

“You’re expecting. It’s very early. Five weeks along.” 

“Pregnant.” She breathed. 

“Yes.” The doctor nodded, smiling. “Now, given your sickness, I wouldn’t tell anyone just yet. I’d wait until you’d reached your second trimester, about thirteen weeks, before spreading the news. Women who are ill like you sometimes have miscarriages, or opt to terminate the pregnancy if it proves dangerous to your health.” 

John was nodding slowly, taking it all in. 

“Doctor Rogers,” Claudia smiled, “could you give us a minute alone, please?” 

He nodded. “Sure, just hit the call button if you have any questions. The nurses will track me down.” 

He smiled at them as he exited the room. 

“Is this a good moment alone or a bad moment alone?” John asked once the doors were closed. 

“I think I’ve made a mistake,” she sighs. “I’ve told you about the magic. Well, you’ve seen it. And, since Ina knew, I assumed, but…” she sighed again. 

“Claudia, you can talk to me about anything,” John implored. 

“Did Ina tell you about the curse? About why I’m here?” 

“No. I thought the curse was bullshit when they first mentioned it. But then I figured, if the magic was real, the curse was probably real.” 

Claudia nodded. “I came here because my paternal grandmother, Ivy, died. My maternal grandmother, Valencia, is alive in France. I got the magic from Ivy. I got the curse from the Valencia.” 

She told him the story of the curse slowly, stopping occasionally to answer his questions. 

“You magicked yourself into having a son?” He repeated slowly.

She nodded. 

John ran a hand over his face. “You know I’m not good at this stuff. I just can’t wrap my head around it, Cee. You’re saying that you’re going to die, and there’s nothing we can do about it?”

“Not necessarily. This is the son that’s meant to pull lightning from the heart of a wolf. The son I’ll have. But there are no wolves here. So when he’s old enough, we’ll take him to France, to my grandmother. There are wolves there. He pulls lightning from it’s heart, and the curse is broken.” 

“How is he supposed to  _ do that _ ?” 

“I don’t  _ know _ , John. I know that this is impossible. That it  _ sounds _ impossible. But it can’t be. It’s what needs to happen, so it can’t be impossible, can it?” 

He turned thoughtful for a moment. “There are wolves here, though.” He said slowly. 

Claudia shook her head. “Those aren’t,” she found she couldn’t finish the sentence. Her mouth moved, but nothing came out. She cursed. “There are no wolves here.” 

John stared at her in shock. “You actually  _ can’t _ tell me, can you? It’s not that you don’t want to tell me. They’ve...they’ve done something to you, to prevent you from telling me.” 

“ _ I’ve _ done something to me. I made a promise. I’ve bound myself to it.” 

“We’re not going to do this. I can’t do this,” he snapped at her. 

Claudia couldn’t help but flinch. He’d never taken that tone with her before. 

He sighed, reaching out to take her hand. “The point is that child in there, is my son?” He asked, looking at her stomach with awe.

“It may not be this child,” Claudia hedged. “Grandma Val had plenty of miscarriages. I don’t think my mother did, but I can’t be sure. And I don’t know how long I’ll have once he’s been born. My mother got quite a bit of time, being away from my grandmother, but there’s no telling. There’s no telling what could happen to me. Or when.” 

John just looked at her. “How old was your mother when she died?” 

“Went missing,” Claudia corrected automatically, then shook her head. “Died. I know she’s dead, I know it. But I don’t like to think of it that way.” She huffed. “Thirty four.” 

He nodded. “You know that all this is beyond me. I...I understand, why you talk to Peter about these things. He seems like he’d take them in stride, and I...I’m still wrapping my head around things like magic and curses actually existing.” He chuckled ruefully. “It makes me angry that there’s nothing I can do about this. That you’re going to die, and there’s nothing I can do. But I love you, Claudia. And I’ll do everything in my power to protect you. And I’ll do everything in my power to protect our son, after you’re...gone.”

“Thank you,” Claudia said quietly. 

John laced their fingers together. “Thank  _ you _ . I think about all this, and I think that in another life, you could’ve married Peter Hale.” 

Claudia balked. “What?!” 

“Oh, come on. You’ve never thought about it?” He pressed.

“No! I’ve never...it’s always been you, John. Peter was only ever a means to get you.” 

“Ah, always so good for my ego.” 

They glanced up to see Peter standing against the doorjamb. 

John’s hackles raised immediately. 

“Hale.” 

“Stilinski,” he nodded, then turned his attention back to Claudia. 

“My mother heard you were in the hospital. She wanted to make sure everything was alright.” 

Claudia nodded. “Tell her thank you. Everything’s fine. I’m just pregnant is all.” 

Peter’s eyes widened, his breath caught in his chest. “You’re having a baby?” 

She nodded again, a shy smile on her face. 

“Congratulations,” he said quietly. Then again, firmer, to John. 

“Talia has some tea, that she said helped her in the beginning, when she was sick,” he said, already moving to leave the room. “Would you like me to bring it, or, you can come by? No. You should rest. I’ll bring it to you.” 

He looked to John, again. “Is it alright with you if I drop by to bring Claudia some tea?” 

John blinked. “Uh, sure. Yeah, of course. That’s fine. Thank you, Peter.” 

“Thank you, Peter.” Claudia murmured. 

“Of course.” He inclined his head, an almost bow, and then he was gone. 

“Was that a magic thing?” John asked, “because that was  _ very _ weird.” 

Claudia chuckled. “That was a Hale thing. They’re mad about babies, and think women should be doted on during this time. I know you don’t like them,” she sighed, “but you’ll probably be seeing quite a bit of them, now that they know.” 

“If they’re all going to act like  _ that _ , they can move in.” 

The laugh was like a dam breaking. All the tension and uncertainty fading away to the pure joy of starting a family with the man she loved. 

\--

At fourteen weeks, her doctor diagnosed her with hyperemesis gravidarum. She was sick her entire pregnancy. 

Despite it all, on April 8th, she gave birth to a bouncing, baby boy. 

And then the hard part started. 


	12. Ch 6: Traitor I

Boyd:

Running Erica down was harder than he expected, which made him grin.

She knew he was following her, was taking advantage of his addiction to her smell. She catted up against trees, left a shoe under a pile of leaves, her lumberjack flannel halfway up an old oak.

He found them all and then kept running, kept searching for the source.

When he found her she was ready.

He was tripped, rolled, and slammed into a tree, which only made his grin wider.

She’d remembered.

Love was fucked up, apparently.

“FUCK YOU!” She screamed at him, as he slouched down against the trunk of the tree. Her scent went sharp and tangy with tears.

“I know what I said, okay?!” She kept screaming. “I know. But that….what you did back there was fucked up. I didn’t deserve that. I didn’t do anything to deserve that.” She stuttered, crying openly now.

Boyd forced himself up from the tree and crossed over to her.

“No!” She yelled, putting a hand out in front of herself.

He growled out his frustration, but didn’t move any closer.

Her head shot up to look at him, eyes flashing gold, before she shifted.

Even her wolf was gorgeous to him, small and white with a strange black streak over her back. She barked at him once before she ran.

He shifted and followed her without a thought. It was easier like this, when she was running, but not hiding. Not trying to distract him or throw him off her trail, just running because she wanted him to be predator. Because she wanted to be prey.

The creatures of the forest around them skittered out of their path as they ran, leaping over roots and fallen trees, splashing through hidden streams, stumbling over loose rocks, running, running, running.

She was faster than him, he realized after a while, much faster. He wasn’t going to catch her. But he couldn’t stop running, couldn’t give up, and let her think she wasn’t worth being chased.

And again, when he did catch her, it was because she wanted to be caught, because she slowed in a meadow and turned back to find him. He tackled her, unable to slow down soon enough not to, and they tumbled into the grass together, tongues hanging out in exertion.

She shifted back that way, while they were still tangled together, and he followed soon after.

Neither of them said anything, laid out naked in the forest, her breathing heavy and looking up at the stars; him content to breath into her neck, thick fingers tangled in her hair.

“I was wrong, earlier,” he said into her collarbone when her heartbeat slowed. “You’ll never be just the sex to me.”

“Me either,” she breathed up at the sky.

“We’re mates, you know,” Boyd added, and she nodded.

“That means forever, for us. It means I’m going to love you forever. That any time you run, I’ll chase you.”

“Oh, God, that’s so corny,” she scoffed, but the air around her had gone sharp again, and she dug her nails deeper into his shoulders, held him tighter.

He hummed an old lullaby of his mother’s into her skin as she cried quietly into the night.

Derek   
  


“I’m an idiot,” were the first words out of Stiles’ mouth when he came to.

There was a large part of Derek that wanted to snort, roll his eyes, and agree. However, the larger part, the prevailing part, was shocky and terrified.

“Stiles,” he croaked, wide eyed, as he walked up to the side of the bed.

“She gone?” Stiles asked, and Derek nodded.

The younger man snorted. “I’m an idiot.”

“Don’t talk about yourself like that. You were brilliant before.”

“No, no,” Stiles waved a hand, “not that.  _ You _ .”

Derek stilled. “Me?”

“When I lost it that first time in the woods, you were the only one who could hear me. And  then just now, or, before, whenever, I could see…I could feel what Kate did to you. The shit she said to you…”

Derek’s stomach was roiling with nerves. First Kate, then Stiles collapsing, now this.

“And Lydia’s blatantly,  _ scheming _ . She invited us to a bonding dinner, for fuck’s sake. I’m such an idiot.”

Stiles scrubbed his hands over his face.

Derek didn’t say anything, he just sat back down on the food of the bed.

“Did you know?” Stiles asked, voice muffled behind his hands.

Derek nodded. “Yeah.” Derek choked out. “Yeah. I knew.”

“When?”

“The garage, the first time.”

Stiles’ hands flew away from his face, and he sat up entirely too fast. He pressed a hand to his temple, another to his stomach.

Derek’s brow furrowed in concern. “Are you…?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” Stiles said, waving him away.

“Is that what you were so upset about?” He asked.

Derek shrugged. “I wasn’t expecting it. I freaked out. It was the cookies.”

“The cookies? My cookies freaked you out?”

“My mom used to make those cookies. The exact same. I could tell. The scent. It was…I don’t know. It was strange. But I knew after the cookies. And I freaked out.”

Stiles nodded, frowning.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked quietly.

“The next time I saw you, Laura was telling you that your mom had been a magical, honorary member of a werewolf pack. Then you had a magical panic attack and almost tore the forest down. Then there was the exchange of power, and it just felt wrong to do then. And then there was Deaton’s. And you were so upset at the idea of Laura and Lydia being mated, I just thought…”

“That was  _ different _ ,” Stiles spat.

“How?”

“Because I flirted with you! I flirted with  _ you _ at the garage. I sucked my finger into my fucking mouth and smiled at you and…”

Derek flushed hot remembering.

“And then you told me to get off your land like you hadn’t been gone for over a decade, Derek! Like I was some idiot kid who’d hit a ball into your yard. So it’s fucking different.”

T he silence solidified around them. It felt like Derek was cracking it open when he next spoke.

“So, what does that mean?” He asked, refusing to be hopeful.

“I don’t know, Derek. Apparently, you call all the shots in this relationship. What do you want it to mean?” Stiles sulked.

“Don’t be like that, I was doing what I thought was…wait. Relationship?” And that, dammit, that was hope in his voice. But there wasn’t much he could do about it now, and Stiles was grinning, leaned up against the headboard.

“Sure, relationship,” he shrugged. “I’m not promising to let me lock you up in your tower and keep me forever—“

“There are no  _ towers _ in Beacon Hills, Stiles,” Derek groaned.

“But you can date me. I’m pretty okay with the idea of you dating me. I’ll even let you pay,” he taunted, because he knew, first hand, how much it mattered.

“You’re going to be a little shit about this, aren’t you?” Derek asked, eyes narrowing.

Stiles’ grin only widened. “Yep.”

He smelled Laura before he heard the tires rolling over the concrete. Boyd was with her, and Erica.

“The others are here,” he said, looking shyly at Stiles.

“Already? Well, hell, pull it together, Hale, before they smell all your pheromones or whatever. Erica would never let me live it down.”

“DID YOU FUCK HIM?!?!?” The blonde screeched from the doorway, barreling into the apartment. “Are you still…” she was almost out of breath with her excitement when she reached the bedroom door.

“Oh. You still have on your clothes. You got to the bed, though. Good start. Now, continue.” 

She rolled her hand forward, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning against the door.

She was snagged back by Boyd, pulled against his chest. “You’re so ridiculous,” he murmured fondly into her hair.

Erica grinned. “And you love me.”

Boyd hummed his assent.

She spun in his arms, looping her own around his neck. “You’re gonna love me forever,” she continued. And Boyd leaned down and kissed her nose.

Derek about threw up in his mouth. “Control  _ my _ pheromones?” He muttered.

“I stand corrected,” Stiles nodded, looking equally disgusted.

“Hey!” Laura barked from the living room. “Were we just attacked by an Argent, or is this an episode of The Newlywed Game? Because I could be at home. “

Boyd dragged Erica back into the living room, as Derek slowly pulled himself up off the bed.

“Can you stand?” He asked Stiles, not sure of what to do now that they’d acknowledged the connection between them.

“If I said no, would you carry me?” Stiles asked seriously, and Derek nodded.

The younger man snorted. “I can totally walk,” he said, springing up. And Derek felt strangely disappointed.

“Next time,” Stiles murmured, reading his mind. Derek marveled at him as they went into the living room.

“All the lights in here are busted,” Laura commented as they entered.

Stiles nodded. “Anything that runs on wall power will be out in this room at least. Hopefully not the kitchen, too. Shit, does it smell like my milk is going bad?” He asked suddenly.  Boyd shook his head.

“Have you done something like this before?”

Stiles shook his head. “No, never. Most of my skill is with wind. Plants, if I'm experiencing a really strong emotion. I’ve only ever done the thunder and lightning thing once or twice, but never this.”

“Where’d it go? The lightning,” Erica asked. Stiles shrugged and looked at Derek.

“Dissipated, I guess. It just sort of, fizzled out once he fell.”

“I can only do it with Derek,” Stiles said, startling the older man.

“What?” Derek asked, mouth hanging open.

“The lightning ball. It wasn’t me. It was us. It was me touching you and feeling what you felt. I…my powers are attached to my emotions but that time the emotion wasn’t mine. It was yours.”

“You’re sure?” Laura asked when Derek just kept staring.

“Yes.” Stiles said, and his heartbeat stayed steady. He wasn’t lying.

“Well alright then. I’ll have to tell Deaton. You’ll have to practice.”

“That’s fine with me as long as it’s fine with Derek.”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Laura asked, tone sharp.

“There’s a bit of memory  transfer involved. It’s a little invasive.”

“I don’t mind,” Derek found himself murmuring, even though he  _ did _ . He  _ did  _ mind. It made him sick to his stomach to think of Stiles knowing everything that had happened to him, but it was necessary. 

“Practice, then.” Laura repeated, looking around the apartment.

“Was there anything Kate said to give you any idea as to their next move?” She asked a bit later.

“She said she came here first because she wanted to start with the weakest link,” Stiles blushed as he said it and Derek’s face went hot with shame, knowing what he’d seen.

But Stiles’ long fingers laced through his and squeezed.

“They thought I was human, or, well, normal,” Stiles continued, as though their hands weren’t linked. “She was very surprised by the magic. But I think she’s going to go for the humans? Lydia, Danny. Probably not Allison, for obvious reasons, but it’d be worth it to up security. ”

Laura nodded. “Derek’s good for stealth patrols.”

Stiles snorted. “Why am I not the slightest bit surprised?” He asked, but he squeezed Derek’s hand again.

Laura’s eyes narrowed at their joined hands.

“Isaac’s at Lydia’s, helping watch over Shane, but I’ll go over there, relieve him. He can run patrols around Danny. You two,” she said, pointing between them, “figure yourselves out. You’ll start training a little more officially tomorrow. But I’m well aware of how new mate bonds can throw people off.”

“Let's go guys,” she said to Erica and Boyd.

Erica was watching in rapt fascination. “you’re gonna fuck now, right? Can I get pictures? I mean, video would be stunning too, but I’m completely fine either way. Honestly do you mind if I wait in the hallway?”

Boyd started to drag her off.

“I just wanted to be part of such a beautiful experience!” She cried as she was carried down the hall.

Derek sighed and turned to Stiles. “What do you want to do?” He asked.

Stiles was drooping, his eyes weren’t even all the way open, normally huge whiskey orbs reduced to mere slits. His hand, though, the one that wasn’t nestled safely in Derek’s, was twitching, clenching and unclenching steadily.

“I want to sleep,” he muttered, “but I don’t feel safe here. We’re not going to be able to fix the locks until morning and even then…I want to maybe talk to Deaton.”

“About what?” Derek asked, brow furrowed.

“Protection spells. Warding, maybe? I mean, I’ve got this magic but it’s so…volatile. I just want to put it to some sort of structured use, you know?  I want to be able to prevent the bad things from happening.”

The wolf nodded. “For now, I could take you to the pack house? It’s not magically protected but…the locks all work?”

“Aren’t Boyd and Erica going to be there?” Stiles asked, nose wrinkling.

“No, I think Erica said something about them going back to her place for the night. It’s probably for the best, after that fiasco with Isaac’s room.”

“What fiasco with Isaac’s room?”

“They had sex in it?”

“Wait, you’re telling me two werewolves had sex in a bed belonging to another werewolf? That’s…I mean, I’m not all up on were culture but that seems extra disrespectful.”

“It is,” Derek nodded.

“Interesting.” Stiles hummed. “Sure. Pack house it is, just let me get some stuff.”

\---

Lydia:

Lydia was still staring at her phone when Isaac knocked again.

“Hey, Laura’s coming.” He said easily.

“What? Why?”

“Apparently the hunters are here. We’re doing a buddy system thing for the humans. Laura’s got you, I’ve got Danny. Derek’s with Stiles and Scott's with Allison.”

“Why doesn’t Laura just go to Danny? You’re already here.”

Isaac looked at her like she was an idiot. It wasn’t an experience she was familiar with. “You know exactly why.”  

Lydia looked away, flushing hot as she remembered her and Laura’s earlier conversation.

Isaac rolled his eyes and stalked back down the hallway. “Lock the door behind me,” he called as he let himself out.

After doing so, she went back into her bathroom, taking a cursory glance in the mirror. She wasn’t going to lie to herself, she found Laura absurdly attractive. And there was something between them, a thrum of something that was probably due to the mate bond, but some of it was all her.

She’d messed around with girls in college, her first dreams of Laura making her curious. It had been enjoyable, but it had always come back to Jackson.

Deciding that her hair looked like a bird had made a nest in it, she pulled out a brush and started pulling it through. She threw a coat of lip balm on, just for some shine, and glanced down at her pajamas. She had sexier ones, she thought, tugging on her white and blue striped flannel pajama pants and her blue  _ stay in bed _ tshirt.

She thought better of it, though. If this was real, if Laura was her mate (she rolled her eyes just thinking about it), then she shouldn’t put on too much of a show.

A knock at the door brought her out of her thoughts. She went to answer it and found Laura on the other side.

‘You could’ve let Isaac stay,” she said, stepping aside to let the Alpha in.

“I could’ve,” Laura agreed easily. Once inside, she spun once, nodding. “Nice.”

“Thanks,” Lydia said offhandedly. She knew she had a nice apartment. Laura spun to look at her.

“I’ve never seen you like this before,” she said, reaching out to touch a strand of her hair.

“Like what?” Lydia breathed, stupidly. She knew exactly what Laura meant.

But the Alpha just smiled at her. “Soft. Natural.”

She let the strand drop. “Where’s the kid?” She asked.

“Spare bedroom,” Lydia replied.

“You wanna talk?” Laura asked, and that took Lydia by surprise.

‘I didn’t think that’s what you’d want.” She said, and Laura nodded.

“It’s not the only thing I want. But I want you to be comfortable. So, if you wanna talk it out first, we can.”

“You’re going to die.” Lydia insisted. Laura nodded again.

“I incited a war with an age old hunting family. I knew it was a possibility going in. I get that you’re saying it’s a certainty, and I can’t really argue with that. And it’s selfish of me, I get it, to want you, knowing that I can’t have you for very long. Knowing how bonds like that affect humans. It’s selfish. But it doesn’t stop me from wanting it.”

“Well everything’s not about what you want, Laura.”

“But you want it too, don’t you? I can see it. Hair just brushed. Sticky stuff on your lips. You wanted to look nice for me. Why would you do that if you didn’t want this?”

“Wanting to look nice and wanting to mate bond with you are entirely different things.”

“We already are bonded, Red. There’s nothing you can do about that. All that’s left now is to decide whether you’re going to enjoy it or not.”

“It’ll hurt less if we don’t do anything.”

‘Depends on your definition of less. You strike me as the curious type, Red. When I’m gone, how are you going to feel knowing that you’d met the love of your life, the one person that was made for you, and you’d done absolutely nothing about it? How’s it going to feel knowing that you played it safe and missed out on something people wait their whole lives for? And some still don’t ever get? Will that hurt less?”

“Curiosity kills the cat,” Lydia murmured, something close to a pout on her lips.

“Satisfaction brings it back,” Laura grinned, taking a step closer. “And you will be satisfied, Red. I promise that you’ll be satisfied…”

She reached a hand out, slowly, giving Lydia plenty of time to step back, which is exactly what she did.

“I just… I can’t, alright?  I can’t.” She whined.

“But you already do, Red. Have your dreams ever been wrong?” Laura asked, voice still patient even as the air vibrated with her need.

Lydia shook her head.

“So then, when you told me on the phone, that you’d put your hands on me, if you’ve seen it, then it’s going to happen, isn’t it?”

“I didn’t tell you that for you to use it against me!” Lydia spat.

Laura took a step back, face pale. “Against you? I would never…I….” She stuttered to a stop, unable to meet Lydia’s eyes. When she did, they were soft with apology.

“I didn’t mean it like that. I get that it came out that way but that’s…that’s not how I want you. I don’t want you to accept what’s happening between us because you saw it in a dream, Red. I want you to choose me. I want you to come to me because you can’t keep yourself away anymore.”

Lydia shook her head. “You don’t have time for that. You don’t have time to wait me out.”

“You might be right,” Laura smiled, a little sad, “but I’m an optimist. So I’m gonna try anyway.”

Lydia’s head ached. She shook it uselessly. “I’m going to bed. I can’t…this is pointless. I’m going to bed.”

Laura just nodded, moving around her to sit down on the couch. “Goodnight, Red.” She said softly.

Lydia didn’t answer, too busy stalking back to her bedroom, closing the door firmly behind her.

Stiles:

“So,” Derek said, opening the door and ushering him through it, “this is it.”

Stiles walked in slowly, taking the place in. It was a nice house, spoke to more money than he’d been expecting, though he couldn’t imagine why.

They stepped into a long hallway. Stiles could see what looked like a living room on one end, couch and large tv mounted on the wall, a small lamp keeping the room lit. On the other end of the hall was what looked like a kitchen, granite washed gray in the moonlight. Dead ahead of them was an end table, with a bowl for keys that was currently empty, a small vase of red flowers, and a picture of the Pack, taken at a fair or carnival of some kind, Laura’s face covered in cotton candy.

Stiles couldn’t help but smile at it.

“Living rooms down there, kitchen over there. There’s a bathroom off the hall that way,” Derek said, pointing in the direction of the living room. “Laura keeps an office down here too, it’s the second door to your right. All of our bedrooms are upstairs,” he paused, “but there’s a spare off the kitchen if you’d prefer?”

Stiles shook his head, moving towards the stairs. He climbed them slowly, his muscles still achy from the magic. He tried to roll his shoulders, shake it off, but he couldn’t. It was bone deep and he was so exhausted.

“Stiles,” Derek said quietly, following behind him. “I don’t want you to feel like anything has to…happen. Because of the whole mates thing. I just…”

They made it to the top of the stairs, into a large hallway with four doors off of it. Stiles stopped and turned to face Derek.

“Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to take a hot shower, and maybe take some Tylenol or something because every single part of my body hurts.”

Derek frowned at this.

“Then, I’m going to crawl in bed with my werewolf mate, because we’re under attack and I’ll be damned if we’re so far away from each other. Then, my werewolf mate is gonna do that awesome pain sucking thingy that you guys can do, and I’m going to fall asleep. Any objections to the plan?”

Derek shook his head.

“Awesome. Which one’s yours?”

“Straight ahead,” Derek said, pointing, and Stiles turned and walked towards the door Derek had mentioned.

“You should’ve told me you were in pain.” Derek muttered when they’d entered the room.

Stiles scoffed as he tossed his bag down on an overstuffed chair in the corner of the room.

‘More important things to worry about. Like, you know, the safety of everyone.”

“Hey,” Derek said, reaching out to stop him as he tried to move towards the bathroom. “You’re my…you’re important to me, okay? I want to know when you’re not okay. I want to help.”

Stiles’ eyes softened, and he leaned into Derek, nuzzling at his neck.

“And who’d have thought, just earlier today we were at each other’s throats.”

“I was never at your throat, I was just…you’re terrifying.”

Stiles snorted, brought his head up so that they could press their foreheads together.

“I’m glad you think so. I’m gonna take that shower now.”

Derek nodded, ducking down to breathe in deep at Stiles’ neck.

“Down boy,” Stiles chuckled, taking a step back. “I can’t even imagine what I smell like right now. Shower, then sniffing,” he compromised, before moving through the small door leading to Derek’s en suite bathroom.

Closing the door behind him, Stiles immediately turned on the faucet. It was an obvious attempt to block sound from the room, one he knew Derek would recognize, but it worked just the same.

He stood there, in the middle of the bathroom for a moment and let himself shake. Kate Argent had broken into his house. Kate Argent had assaulted Derek. Stiles had made a fucking fireball (electricity ball did  _ not _ have the same ring to it, so fuck it, it was a fireball) in his fucking  _ hand _ . Stiles had a werewolf mate.

He shook his head to clear and moved to turn on the shower. Once the water was pulsing down into the tub, he moved to turn off the faucet. Still very obvious tactics for blocking sound, which was silly since he wasn’t actually making any noise. He was in panic mode, he realized. Survival mode. Anyone could be the enemy right now. The sanctity of his  _ home _ had been violated and he trusted that more than anything.

It wasn’t until he hiccupped that he realized he was crying. Cursing, he stripped off his clothes and rushing into the shower. The water was hot, he registered dimly as he sunk down against the shower wall. Probably too hot.

His heart was beating too fast in his chest and the blood was roaring through his ears and the steam in the room was making it hard to breathe deeply, making it easy to breathe quick and shallow, through his mouth and his  _ lungs _ hurt. His throat hurt, his eyes hurt, still stinging with tears.

They’d broken into his house.

They’d broken into his house.

They’d  _ broken _ it.

“We’re okay. Everyone’s okay.” He said to himself as he started to scrub.

The water was hot but it was good. It would cleanse him. He’d feel better after.

‘We’re okay.”  He muttered to himself, over and over. There was a sob caught in his chest but he wouldn’t let it out, because then he’d be crying and there was no use in crying. Crying wouldn’t solve anything. Crying wouldn’t protect anybody.

“It’s okay, we’re okay.” He chanted, still scrubbing furiously.

‘it’s okay.”

The bathroom door opened and Stiles jumped, whirling. He  _ heard _ the wind pick up outside, heard the thunder rumbling through the air.

“Stiles,” Derek said quietly, approaching the shower.

“I’m…you scared me. I’m sorry, you scared me.”

“Come on, let’s get you out of there.” Derek said, reaching in to turn off the water. He cursed, shaking his hand out.

“Stiles, you’re hurting yourself. The water’s too hot. Let’s get out, okay?” He asked, and his voice was gentle, like he was talking to an animal that might spook and run.

Stiles realized the chances of him spooking and running were actually pretty high, so it may have been appropriate.

“I’m okay,” he whispered, furious.

Derek nodded. “Alright. How about we get out anyway?”

He stepped into the shower, still fully clothed, and reached out for Stiles.

Together, they stepped out of the shower. Derek dried him slowly, taking care of the places where his skin had gone too red. He was impossibly gentle, and Stiles started to shake again.

“I’m not weak,” he said, throat raw.

Derek stood and looked him in the eyes. “Of course you’re not. Do you still want the pain meds? I…we don’t really use them, but I think we might have some in the kitchen?”

“I brought some. In my bag.”

Derek nodded. “Okay. Let’s get you dressed then.”

Stiles shook his head. “I can… I can do it myself, I’m not,”

“Stiles let me  _ help  _ you.”

“I don’t need your help!”

“I know that!” Derek shouted, surging back into Stiles’ space, pressing him against the sink.

Then he remembered himself, stepping away, eyes going soft again.

“I know,” he said, quieter this time. “You don’t need my help but I…I need to help you. Will you let me please?”

Stiles nodded dumbly, and let Derek help him into the basketball shorts and BHPD t shirt he’d brought to sleep in. Once he was dressed, Derek led him to the bed, helped get him settled under the covers. It was raining, hard, and it hadn’t even been cloudy when he’d gone into the bathroom. Stupid weather powers.

Derek brought him the pain medication from out of his bag, and a glass of cool water.

“Is there anything else you need?”

Stiles shook his head. He was tired and he ached.  

Derek crawled into bed a few moments later, spooning up behind him. He shoved an arm under Stiles’ pillow, and wrapped the other one around his middle, pulling him close.

“Can you get the light?” He asked, and Stiles nodded, reaching forward to pull the string on the old school lamp next to derek’s bed.

When they’d settled again, Derek swept his hand down to Stiles’ hip, and all the pain started to drain away.

Stiles can’t help the groan that slips out of him.

“Feels good,” he slurs.

Derek chuckles a little behind him. “Go to sleep,” he murmured.

And Stiles did.

Laura:

It was raining and the Alpha couldn’t settle.

Lydia’s scent was richer in sleep, and it permeated the whole apartment. Laura couldn’t help but me calmed by the easy rhythm of her breathing, the constant patter of her heartbeat.

Yet, she still felt restless and far away.

She rose, and started to pace. It was amazing, she thought absently, how well the kid was sleeping, considering how jumpy he’d been around the pack. His breathing and heartbeat were steady in the spare room, he hadn’t so much as stirred in the time Laura had been there.

Absently, Laura was proud. The young wolf would prove to be great at control, if they kept him. If they made it through this.

Which, according to Lydia, she wouldn’t.

And she believed Lydia, because she had to. She had to trust this pack she’d made, or it was all for nothing. They had full faith in Lydia’s visions, so Laura would as well. It’s just, well. It’s not every day someone predicts you’re going to die. Especially not someone you’re supposed to spend the rest of your life with.

But when have the Hales ever fit into the category of “supposed to”?

She thought she’d be afraid, when Lydia told her. Or angry, or something. But mostly, she just felt…right.

If she had to die, she was content to do it on the territory her mother had claimed, and her mother before her. IF she was going to die, she wanted to do it on the same dirt where her family had died. Her life was a small tribute to their memory, as far as she was concerned.

And this pack was full. It was healthy and lively, even without her. Boyd and Derek had found mates and Isaac. Isaac had found something even better. He’d found purpose. He’d found family. It was more than she’d ever hoped for.

So the thought of dying here, under the circumstances, wasn’t as frightening as it would’ve been when she was twenty four. This was the right thing. She was doing the right thing.

She was staking her life on it.

In the bedroom, Lydia’s breathing picked up, and she started to whimper. The sound was, at first, erotic, and Laura had to force herself to tune it out. To give the woman some privacy in her own home.

But then a wave of anxiety rolled off her so strong that even Shane woke up, whimpering.

The young wolf scrambled out of the bed and opened the door, looking wide eyed out into the hallway.

“What is it?” He whispered into the dark, knowing Laura was there to hear him.

The Alpha had stopped her pacing, and was slowly making her way down the hallway towards Lydia’s room.

“Just a bad dream I think, kid. Go on back to bed, I’ll take care of it.”

Shane nodded and went back into his room. The door clicking softly behind him.

“Red?” Laura said softly as she pushed Lydia’s door open.

The redhead was thrashing around on the bed, feet tangled in the sheets, face a mask of pain.

‘Red,” Laura said again, rushing to her side. She ran a hand down her thigh, hoping to soothe, but Lydia just tensed up.

“No,” she whined, “no, no, no, no, no.”

Laura moved her hand as though she’d been burned.

Tears welled up behind Lydia’s closed eyes, tracking silently down her face.

“Laura,” she called out plaintively, and the Alpha couldn’t help but respond.

“I’m right here, Red. Lydia, I’m right here. You gotta tell me what’s wrong. What can I do? How can I help?”

Lydia’s eyes opened on a gasp.

Once they’d focused, and acknowledged Laura was there in front of her, she reached out and grabbed the older woman, pulling her onto the bed.

Laura was helpless to do anything but roll into bed with her, still reeling from the terror of seeing her mate in pain.

When they’d settled, Lydia was half on top of Laura, face buried in the Alpha’s neck, still damp with tears.

“Don’t die,” Lydia murmured, over and over. “Don’t die.”

“I,”  _ won’t _ , Laura wanted to say, but realized that she couldn’t.

“I’m sorry, Red,” she settled for instead. “Lydia, I’m sorry.”

But Lydia’s breath was already evening out in sleep.

With the house quiet again, Lydia and Shane’s steady breathing, constant hearts, and the consistent patter of the rain, Laura found herself drifting off at last, wrapped in the scent of her mate.  

\--

Danny:

He wasn’t sure what the werewolves and magical creatures of the bunch did all day, sometimes. And that was fine with Danny.

Danny had his work. It was varied and interesting and it never, ever bored him. Ever.

Somedays, he did freelance tech work for some startups back east. Sometimes, he did securities for his own company, still open and operational in Beacon City. Sometimes, he scoured his vast resources for werewolf orphans and families who might be able to take them. Sometimes he hacked the CIA, just to keep from getting rusty.

The fact of the matter was, everyone in the Pack had their part to play, and Danny’s was pretty low maintenance, if he was honest. He wasn’t tasked with predicting anyone’s future, or changing the weather, or being the star crossed progeny of hunters. Nope. Danny just worked like a normal person.

Varied and interesting work that never, ever bored him.

Danny was bored out of his mind.

“what do you mean I can’t work?” he whined at the curly, blonde  _ child _ blocking the entrance to his front door.

“We’re on lockdown, Alpha’s orders. There’s hunters in town, everyone’s staying home.”

“But I  _ work _ in Beacon City.”

“Not today you don’t,” the kid said with smirk, arms crossing over his, frankly, pretty scrawny chest and Danny had to roll his eyes. He had to.

“You’re twelve years old! You can’t keep me in the house all day.”

Isaac pointed at himself. “Werewolf.” He said easily. “Of course I can keep you in the house all day.”

“Ugh!” Danny said, throwing his hands up and stalking back towards his office. He dropped his briefcase down on the couch and settled behind his monitors.

He had no idea what he was going to do.

He’d just recently hacked the CIA, so he couldn’t do that again, otherwise it’d draw unnecessary attention.

There was no point in looking for wereorphans, because he couldn’t hold them in their territory during the placement process, so he was just sure to upset himself. All his freelance work was done, there weren’t any new requests in his email. He’d finished everything because he had a board meeting today. At work. In Beacon City, which was only twenty minutes away but apparently involved getting  _ around  _ a werewolf with a mission.

“What do you even do?” Said werewolf asked from the couch.

Danny jumped. He hadn’t even seen the kid come in.

“I own an internet security company.”

“So you, the hacker, get paid to make sure other people don’t get hacked?”

“Who said anything about me being a hacker?” Danny asked cryptically.

Isaac scoffed. “You, just now, when you were bitching about how you couldn’t even hack the CIA again without drawing suspicion. Don’t you ever do anything normal? Like watch TV? These are the perfect circumstances for a Netflix marathon.”

“I have an eight year old werewolf child. I don’t’ watch a lot of television that isn’t marketed to elementary schoolers.” Danny sighed.

‘Again. Perfect circumstances.” He rose from the couch.

‘Tell me you have snacks!” HE called out.

“Eight year old werewolf child.” Danny called in response.

“Well get your ass in here then!” Isaac called back.

Danny pushed himself up from out of his desk chair and followed the sound of Isaac’s racket into the kitchen.

“You’ve got fruit snacks and lunchables.” The werewolf said without turning.

Danny ran a hand over his face. “Eight year old…”

“Werewolf child. Yeah, yeah. I know. This is…” Isaac turned around, and Danny got a first hand view at the brilliant smile on his face.

“This is awesome!” He said, before running into the living room and launching himself over the back of the couch.

He dug around for the remote, grinning like a loon when he found it, only to stare at it for a few minutes when he couldn’t get it to work.

“Is this one of those ‘I’m a hacker so my TV has to be better than yours’ type of things?” he asked with a pout.

Danny laughed and moved from the kitchen to the living room, sitting down next to Isaac and holding his hand out for the remote.

“No, this is one of those ‘let me password protect this thing so my child isn’t watching Frozen at four in the morning’ type of things.” He said, entering the password and watching the screen pop to life.

“Anything in particular you’ve got in mind?” Danny asked. Isaac shrugged. “What’s your favorite Netflix original?”

“I…doesn’t Netflix just stream existing shows?”

Isaac stared at him with an open mouth.

“Oh God. I…oh  _ God _ . You poor deprived creature. I just. No, no. Orange is the New Black. You need to watch Orange is the New Black.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Formatting!! *Shakes fist* 
> 
> Next update: sometime between Jan 19th-22nd. I give up on firm posting dates.


	13. Interlude: The Waiting

**1995**

He’s here, grandmother! He’s here and he’s beautiful and he’s perfect. His name is <redacted>. It was John’s grandfather’s middle name, did you know that? You probably knew David very well. I hope that he’ll grow into it, and that children won’t give him too much trouble for it. I would’ve chosen something that was...less a mouthful, but it was important to John. And with all this, the magic and the curse, and the baby’s role in it all, I try everyday to make sure I’m doing something for John. You can’t imagine how hard he took it when he lost Ina. Well, maybe you can. She was a wonderful woman, but she practically raised him, after the accident that took his parents. She was always kind to me, but I think you and he saw a side of her I never really got to know. And that’s alright. 

I was worried, for a while, about his drinking. Strangely, it was Peter who got through to him. I wish I could tell you more about Peter. He’s probably my best friend, since Melissa left. I miss her dearly as well. 

I won’t ramble on at you too much. I’ll just tell you that we’re doing well. Attached are pictures of the baby. I’ve probably sent too many, but I’m obsessed with him. 

I hope that you’re well, Grandmother. 

Love,

Claudia

Claudia, 

He’s gorgeous, dear. You’ve done well. I know the carrying was hard for you. Are you recovering alright? Let me know if you need anything at all for him, or for yourself. Were you working, before? Are you interested in getting a job now? It wasn’t a thing women did when I was young, but I’m aware that times have changed. I can get you a nanny, if you’re interested, or...anything, really. 

Ina told me, before she passed, a bit about your Peter. It seemed a very dramatic affair, between you and him and your John. Who needs romance novels, with you around? I’m glad that he’s good to you. And I’m glad that he helped manage your Johnathan. It’s personal experience, I’m aware, but I have no great love for drinking, nor did your mother, in the time that we were close. 

Warmest Regards,

Valencia

**1996**

Thank you for the extra money, grandmother. I’ve purchased a car with it. It’s a Jeep, A CJ5. It’s blue. It’s a little frivolous, but it’s better than John’s pickup for carrying the baby around. I think I’m going to stay home with him, until he’s maybe three, before I start looking for work. Or maybe I’ll go back to school. I never did go to college. I feel so silly, now that I’m with John, because I’ve never had to worry about money. Can we afford to send me to college? Am I asking for too much?

Melissa’s come home! Her parents retired to Florida, and left her the house. She’s had a son as well, and gotten a job at the hospital. Her son is called Scott, and he and young <redacted> are already the best of friends. I’m so glad to have her back. She’s still married to Rafael. He works for the FBI, mostly out of the field office in San Francisco. I don’t know what I’d do if John was gone as often as Rafael is. It’s lucky though, that I’m not working, so I’m able to keep an eye on both kids while Melissa does her nurses shifts at the hospital. Seeing her be so strong for herself does make me want a little something more out of my life, though. 

Peter’s brought home a girl. His mother is thrilled. He got his heart broken when we were young and has been closed off ever since, but this girl is just his type. Her name is Charlotte, but she goes by Charlie, and she’s a landscape designer. She reminds me of Grandma Ivy, in her skill with plants. I don’t think it’s magic, though. 

Peter’s mother Aria plans to retire this year, and his sister, Talia, will be taking over the family business. They’ve been having a bit of trouble lately, animal attacks in the woods out by their house. John says its mountain lions. I’ve never seen a mountain lion in those woods the entire time I’ve lived here. I’m unsettled by the whole affair. 

John is thinking of running for Sheriff, did I tell you? He’s not sure when. I”m excited and nervous. I can’t imagine being the Sheriff’s wife. There’s enough pressure just being John’s wife. So many people here know him and respect him. 

Did you have to make people like you when you first married grandfather? 

Attached are new pictures of the baby. He’s in love with that blanket, we can’t get him to put it down. 

All my love,

Claudia

Claudia, 

I’ve no idea what kind of car that is, but if it makes you happy, than the money is well spent. I think three is a lovely age, your mother and aunt Brienne had started to talk a little, at three. No one else could understand them, but I could. There’s a special connection between mothers and children, I think. 

A little history lesson: In today’s currency, my father would’ve been comfortable enough to have sent you to college, if you’d wanted. My aunt Flora definitely would’ve been able to send you, she was shrewd with her money. My husband would’ve been able to send a small football team to college. Considering I am the only living heir to all three of their fortunes, believe me when I say you can do, or go, absolutely wherever you want. You can open a business if you’d like, or pick some profession that makes absolutely no money at all. You will always be taken care of, Claudia. That I can promise you. 

I’m glad that your friend is back, and that your Peter has found love. I suggest you do whatever you can to get to the bottom of this unsettling behavior. I fear, and these may just be the ramblings of an old woman, but I fear the curse will work harder, now that there’s been a son born. You must protect him, Claudia, with everything you can. 

The only people I had to convince to like me were the staff, which is harder than it sounds. It’s about knowing when to pick your battles. When to stand up for yourself, and when to let another person feel like the winner. I’ve always been told that marriage is the best practice for it. My own marriage was relatively short, so I might not be the best person to ask. 

Warmest Regards,

Valencia

**1997**

Grandmother,

You might have been right, about the curse working harder. Stiles has broken his arm twice in the past three months. Thank God for Melissa, I think the doctor thought we were hurting him. We’re not. He just has horrible luck, my poor son. 

A friend of mine, Alan Deaton, also has magic. He says there are spells and potions that might be able to help Stiles. If you’re the one who’s cursed though. He may need something from you. A lock of your hair, perhaps? I know it’s an imposition. But if there’s any chance it might be able to help, I’m anxious to try it at least. 

Peter’s family say they have ways of keeping him safe. I’ve spoken to them about protecting him. Aria would’ve done it without question, she would’ve considered it her duty. Talia is different, and she wants access to my gift in return. I’ve said yes. I’ll do whatever I can to keep him safe. It’s just terrifying to imagine something so big, and so unpredictable being after him already. He’s only a child. And now that he’s born, I can go at any time. I’m so afraid. I’m all the time  _ so _ afraid, grandmother. 

I’ve enrolled at the local community college, for business administration. The old administrator for the hospital is making noises about retirement, and Melissa is urging me to take her position. The money is good. I know we don’t actually need it, but John wants us to be able to cover our expenses on our own. He’s proud that way, and I appreciate it about him. 

Peter’s Charlotte is pregnant. I’m so happy for him. Peter doted on me my entire pregnancy. It’s so nice to see him get to do that for someone that’s his own child. Talia’s pregnant again as well. They do love babies, the Hales. 

The animal attacks stopped rather abruptly a couple months back. Peter spent two nights in the hospital around the same time. I know it’s connected, though I can’t imagine how. If you knew Peter, you would know that any time in the hospital is...unusual, for him. I’m glad he’s alright. 

Attached is a picture of <redacted>, with Melissa’s Scott. Also, I found this old photo in some of Ina’s things we discovered in the attic. John couldn’t think of anyone else who would want it more. 

Love,

Claudia 

Claudia, 

A lock of my hair is attached. It is not an imposition. I would do anything for you, know that. 

I know it’s hard, living under a curse this way, and I’m so sorry for it. I was young and foolhardy and I made a mistake. I’m glad that you have entrusted friends to help keep you and <redacted>, (honestly, of all the names you could’ve given him), safe. I imagine it will be trying in the coming years. The fear never really goes away. Even when I was young, after my father died but before I  _ knew _ the curse was real, I was still afraid. Courage is living your life anyway. Ivy taught me that. 

Growing life is always a miracle. Have you and John thought about having any more? I know that your mother and father thought about it for a while, though I’m not sure entirely why they didn’t. 

No pressure, of course. You’re young, and hopefully you have a lot of life ahead of you. 

Thank you, for the picture. It means the world to me. 

Warmest Regards,

Valencia

**1998**

Grandmother, 

<Redacted>’s birthday was a raucous event. John bought them a wading pool and they had a small pool party in the back. All of the Hale’s came, Talia bringing Laura and Derek and little Cora along with her. Peter and Charlotte brought their Lauren. It was good to have all these people I hold dear to me in the same place. 

Talia and John get along like a house on fire. With John being a deputy, thinking of running for Sheriff, and Talia thinking of running for mayor, they always have plenty to talk about. And then he and Elliot, Talia’s husband, played football together in school, so they’re always keen to remember their glory days. 

Charlotte said she’d take a look at my plants, which is such a relief to me. Ivy taught me the basics, but I don’t have her touch (obviously), and the garden has just been such a disappointment to me. 

You told me the little cabin you bought was on a bit of land. Have you considered gardening at all? It’s good for the soul, or so Ivy said. 

Attached are pictures from the party. Believe it or not, that is my son underneath all that cake.

All my love,

Claudia

Claudia, 

I apologize if this letter has come a little late. My regular mail carrier passed away. My letters will be slower, as now I’ll be going into town to pick them up from my PO box, so that I don’t have to speak to anyone. 

On your suggestion, I ordered entirely too many gardening tools out of a catalogue. I’ve also gone into town and checked out entirely too many library books, so that I know what to do with it all. I’ve never been the best cook, but something about a kitchen garden speaks to me. Rosemary grows wild here, as does lavender and tarragon. I think I’ll start there. 

These pictures of <redacted> bring me so much joy, Claudia, you must know that. He’s growing into a very handsome young man. I’m sure he’ll break all the ladies’ hearts.

I’ve been tired, of late. I am getting quite a bit old. I thought there might be a benefit to the curse, that it would keep me healthy longer, but my bones are beginning to ache. I’ll go see my regular doctor, but I doubt there’s anything they can do. 

I’ll keep you apprised.

Warmest Regards,

Valencia

**1999**

Grandmother, 

<Redacted> spends a few days a week at the Hales, and that plus Alan’s protection have cut down on his accidents quite a bit. I can’t say how, I’m just pleased that it’s working. They’ve only asked me to use my gift once, and I don’t believe it was for anything sinister, but I hate to use it. 

I’ve completed my two year course at the community college, and start work at the hospital next week. I’m so excited and nervous, it’s like school all over again. 

Talia is actively campaigning for Mayor. She’s obviously going to win. The current mayor, Nathaniel Whittemore, is a bastard. Pardon my language, grandmother, but he is. There was a terrible accident two towns over, and Beacon Hills of course volunteered police officers, but then the mayor rejected the overtime budget, saying that Beacon Hills would show up out of the kindness of their hearts! Now, of course, they went anyway, and they were all safe, but imagine if something had happened! Because they weren’t  _ technically _ on duty, Beacon Hills wouldn’t be liable for their medical care. 

Talia has already said she’d never let anything like that happen, and I believe her. We may have our differences, Talia and I, but she’s an upright sort of a woman, who stands by her word. She’s so much like her mother that way. 

Attached is a picture of <redacted> at the Hales. There must be something wrong with the camera, it seems not to have picked up little Laura’s eyes very well. 

Love,

Claudia

Claudia, 

You seem to be so happy, there. And I’m so glad for it. Your mother, bless her, always strained under the curse, and the presence of magic in the world. I know you’re aware she and your father fought miserably over the way you should be raised and how you should be treated. I don’t know how often she told you, but she  _ loved _ you, Claudia. More than anything in the world, she loved you. I’m so sorry that this mistake of mine cost you the chance to have a good relationship with your mother. Please accept that apology, as I’ve never thought to give it before. 

And I know that it was selfish of me, to send you to America instead of bringing you here to be with me. You have to understand that was a decision made out of fear. The same fear you feel now, worrying over <redacted>. I want you to have the longest, happiest life you can, Claudia. That’s why I want you so far away from me. Not because having a teenager in my life would’ve been a burden. And not because I don’t love you. 

I love you,

Valencia

**2000**

Grandmother, 

<Redacted> started school today. It was just a half day, and Melissa picked both of the boys up after, as she’s working a night shift tonight. She called me at work, because apparently <redacted> would now like to be called Stiles. One day and the poor thing has changed his name! I like it though, rolls off the tongue nicely, Stiles Stilinski. I hope John isn’t offended, he picked the name, after all. 

On another note, I’m worried about Melissa. Rafael got demoted, it seems. He spends much less time in San Francisco than he used to. There’s been mentions of him getting a job as a football coach at the high school. They’re fighting a lot, and Melissa is picking up more shifts to try to cover their financial expenses. Before you mention it, I’ve already offered them a loan, but she refuses to take it. So we’re trading off with the kids, and I’m slipping cash into her purse as often as I think I can get away with it. 

Talia has had another baby, a little boy named Trevor. She swears they’re done now, but there’s no telling, with the two of them. I keep asking Peter if he and Charlie are going to have another, but he’s noncommittal. He works so much now, and Charlie opened up a nursery at the edge of town. I don’t know that they’ll have the time. 

I know you mentioned, a while back now, John and I having another. I don’t think we will. John has been putting in a crazy amount of hours at the station, and I have Stiles, and sometimes the occasional Hale child here. My pregnancy was so hard, and while it was undoubtedly worth it, I’m not interested in doing it again. 

John and I were thinking of taking Stiles to New York next year. Well, all of us to New York. I’ve never been, and neither has John. Have you?

Attached is a picture of Stiles’ on his first day of school. 

Love,

Claudia 

Claudia, 

Yes, I went to New York once, a very long time ago, when your grandfather was still alive, before your mother and aunt were born. It was loud and busy and cramped and I hated it. It sounds like it’s right up Stiles’ alley though. I love having a name I can actually say! I can tell you, now, that I used to practice writing it out on an extra sheet of paper so that I wouldn’t ruin our letters with my butchering of it. 

The shopping in New York is amazing, and I’ve heard the food is lovely as well. Make sure to indulge a bit, spoil your husband. The two of your deserve it. Whatever will Melissa and your Hales do in your absence? 

Warmest Regards,

Valencia

**2001**

Claudia, 

I’ve seen the news. Tell me you’re alright. Please tell me you’re alright. Is Stiles alright? 

Grandmother, 

It’s a miracle. We’d been in New York, and we’d flown out, we had a plane change at Logan, and we were supposed to be on one of those flights. Stiles threw the biggest tantrum I’ve ever seen when we were supposed to board the plane. We just couldn’t get ahold of him. We ended up placing ourselves on standby to see if we could get him calmed down. 

We should’ve been on that plane, grandmother. I just can’t believe it. I just can’t. 

I’ve thrown in pictures of Stiles at the Empire State building. I still can’t believe it. 

**2002**

Grandmother, 

I don’t have much to say today, I just wanted to check in. 

Stiles has boundless energy and all the tact of your average seven year old, which is to say, none. Today, he asked Tabitha Wheeler why she’d never gotten married. He asked her this while standing in a packed line at the grocery store. The woman is mortified.  _ I’m _ mortified. Or, I suppose, I should be. BUt it was actually very funny. And Tabitha Wheeler has harbored an inappropriate crush on my husband since before he was my husband. 

I am also starting to notice that Stiles might be a little bit magic. My father always said the men in his line didn’t get it, but we all know Stiles is special. My magic became evident to my family around this age. I’m not really sure how to handle it. It looks, to me, like Ivy’s power, he’s a miracle in the garden.  So much so that I can’t let him back there as often as I’d like, people are starting to notices the vast differences in the growth of my plants and the growth of others. I wish I’d have asked Ivy how to train him. 

For now, though, he’s hit or miss, and I’ll wait until he’s a little older, hopefully a little more settled, to tell him about it. 

Here’s a picture of him in the garden with Charlie. 

Love,

Claudia

Claudia, 

Though I don’t know anything about it, if Stiles has magic, I am pleased. Hopefully, when it manifests, it will be something that can help to protect him from forces that would wish him harm. I know your friends are protecting him, but him having the ability to help himself would let me sleep a little better at night. 

I know how important Ivy was to you. The two of you shared a bond that I can’t even imagine. I’m very sorry that she isn’t here to help you navigate through this time in your life. However, she taught you well. I know that, because it’s Ivy, and she wouldn’t have done any less. I’m sure that, when the time is right, you’ll teach him everything he needs to know. I imagine he’s much too young for it now, but when do you plan on telling him about the curse? This is...insensitive, I understand. But, as you’ve said, now that he’s been born, you could go at any time. Is there a plan, for if something happens early?

You must hate me. I understand that. I wish there was a more tactful way for me to ask, but if there is I haven’t found it. 

Warmest Regards,

Valencia 

**2003**

Grandmother,

Melissa kicked Rafael out a week ago. He’d been hitting her. I feel like such a horrible friend. How had I not known that? Stiles never liked him, but I didn’t think much of it. None of us  _ liked _ him. But Melissa did, and we thought that was all that mattered. He caused such a scene when he left that some of the neighbors called the police. John went, and Melissa, I almost can’t even talk about it, Melissa had this bruise on her face. 

John is furious with himself. Him being a policeman, he always thinks he should’ve seen these things coming. That he’s trained to see them. He’s started drinking again, and I’m not sure I know how to get him to stop. Melissa won’t even press charges. She’s got this bruise on her face, and she won’t press charges. John says, if it happened while Scott was in the house, the state might be able to press charges. But Melissa says that Scott wasn’t there. THat he was at our house. I’m sick thinking of all the things that might’ve been going on there when we weren’t paying attention, just skipping along in our normal lives when something awful was happening to Melissa. And to Scott, poor Scott. He’s such a kind boy, always has a smile, always ready for an adventure. 

Peter offered to kill him. Rafael, that is, not Scott. He was joking, I’m almost 100% certain. It’s hard to ever know though, for sure, with Peter. 

I suppose I don’t have much to talk about, I just needed to get this off my chest, and there isn’t anyone I can talk to that doesn’t feel equally terrible about the situation. 

I hope things are going better for you.

Here’s a picture of the boys playing. 

All my love,

Claudia

Claudia, 

I’m very sorry to hear about Melissa’s marriage. I know that she’s been a good friend to you since you’ve been in America, and I know how terrible it can be to see your good friends hurt. There was some unbelievable pain in my marriage to your grandfather, but he never put his hands on me, and I can’t imagine he ever would. 

I, too, wish I had something to offer to her. But I don’t. Just remember to be there for her in this time. 

Your Peter concerns me. I’m aware that he’s always been kind to you, but your descriptions of him are unsettling. Is he a good person, Claudia? I’ll trust your word. 

I am more concerned about your John. You’ve noted his drinking before. Alcohol in men can be a dangerous thing. I hope it won’t happen, Claudia, but it’s possible that there will be a time when you are gone. It seems that every time something difficult happens for John, he starts drinking. If it’s just him and Stiles, with so much on the line, what’s to stop him from sinking into a bottle? 

I know that lately I’ve had some hard questions for you, and I hope you don’t resent me for them. 

Warmest Regards,

Valencia

**2004**

Grandmother, 

I very much took to heart what you’ve said about John’s drinking. It is something that bothers me as well I just never know exactly what to do about it. He’s such a good man. Even when he drinks he’s never been violent, or loud. Just sad. 

I finally worked up the courage to sit down and talk to him about it. It was a very difficult conversation, he didn’t want to discuss it with me at first, but he opened up after a while. He just hates it when he feels like there isn’t anything he can do. He joined the force to get away from that feeling, so things like what happened to Melissa are especially hard for him. She was being hurt and he had the power to stop it and she didn’t even tell him. 

I’ve convinced him to run for Sheriff. It may not actually solve the problem, but it will give him something to focus on, make him feel like he’s accomplishing something. I mean, he will be accomplishing something. And that’s what he needs right now, a project. 

I’ve started reading fairy tales to Stiles. That’s how Ivy started with me. She never read them they like were huge, impossible things. Just like they were things, that happened to people. When he asks me if magic is real, I always say maybe. My hope is to ease him into it, but of course, time is a constant worry. 

Attached is a picture of me reading to Stiles, John must’ve snuck and took it at some point.

Love,

Claudia

Claudia, 

Thank you very much of the picture of you reading to Stiles. You send pictures of him all the time, but I realize I haven’t seen you in ages. Not since your wedding photos years ago. You’ve grown into a beautiful young woman. I can see a lot of your mother in you, though you have your father’s coloring. 

I won’t ask you to rush in the way that you’re raising him, or in the way that you present magic to him. The curse was always fact for me, and I always spoke about it as though it was fact, and your mother still didn’t believe me until the worst happened. Ivy was the only person that was ever able to convince her, and Ivy was the one who taught you. In dealing with Stiles and his magical training, I would suggest you always do what you think Ivy would do, to the best of your ability. I’m sure you’ll be remarkable. 

I don’t know that giving John more responsibility will be better for his drinking, but you know him better than I do. I hope that his new position works out for him, and for you. 

Do you all use the internet? It’s new here, but one of the women I buy my groceries from just recently when online. Writing is getting harder for me, I’ve developed the most awful ache in my hands, and I was wondering if you’d be willing to switch to email?

Warmest Regards,

Valencia

**2005**

To:  [ Valencia.Baptiste7@yahoo.com ](mailto:Valencia.Baptiste7@yahoo.com)

From: Cee. [ Stilinski@yahoo.com ](mailto:SStilinski@yahoo.com)

Grandmother, 

I am very glad we switched to email. I can’t imagine writing this on paper. My tears would soak through page after page after page. 

There was a terrible fire at the Hale house, and all of them are gone. And I realize that you didn’t know very much about them, only from what I’ve told you, but I feel like I need to tell someone how wonderful they were, now that they’re gone. 

Aria was a true matriarch, in every sense of the word. She was firm, but kind, and she always knew what to do, and how to diffuse tension, and how to find a compromise that worked for everyone. She could be terrifying, when she wanted, but mostly she just made everyone around her feel safe. 

Jacob, her husband, was sweet and quiet. He had a special love for the children, always with some secret treat or present for them. He was a wood carver, or a whittler, and he made them small trinkets all the time, when Talia and Aria got on him too much about candy. He liked puzzles and quiet, and he and Aria were such a great match. She was a confident go getter, outspoken and brave, and he was quiet, and steady, and constant. 

Talia wanted so much to walk in her mother’s footsteps. And they were similar. Talia and Peter were both a little sharper than their parents. That’s something I think they did for each other. Each kept the other on their toes. It was clear, though, that Talia was going to be a great matriarch, like Aria had been. She was a loving and dedicated mother, and she was so protective. Not only of the family, but of the whole town, as mayor. She was so dedicated to making the Hale name, and the town of Beacon Hills, great. 

Elliot was an architect. I don’t know if I ever told you?  Everyone someone would have a child, he and Charlie had a little tradition. He would build an addition, and Charlotte would plant a tree. With five children between them, you can imagine there quite a few additions, and quite a few trees. Elliot was fierce. He reminded me of a grizzly bear, a little. But he had a huge laugh and a huge hug and he was so nice to be around. 

Charlotte, Charlie, was a breath of fresh air. She was so different from what I expected for Peter. She was always laughing. I’d never once, in all these years, seen Charlie in a bad mood. She worked with flowers because she said it was the closest she could get to planting joy. That spring flowers could turn even the deepest frowns upside down. Peter would smile every time she said it. I was so happy that he’d found someone to make him happy. 

And then there were the children. 

Laura and Derek, Talia’s oldest two, weren’t at the house when it caught. They survived, thank the Gods. But the younger ones…

Cora was feisty. She always wanted to wrestle, especially with Elliot, because he was the largest. She didn’t often win, but her father always seemed genuinely surprised at how hard she fought. She was sharp, and quick, and she reminded me of Stiles. 

Trevor was very much like his grandfather: quiet and sweet. He liked to read in the great library where his grandmother spent the majority of her time. They’d drink tea together and just be quiet. It was completely possible to lose track of Trevor in a room, for how little noise he made. But he was always listening, and had an excellent memory for detail. 

Lauren was Peter and Charlotte’s oldest. And she was the best of them. She wanted to be a lawyer like her father. She was blonde like her mother. She was a powerhouse. Strangely, her and Talia spent the most time together. Lauren always wanted to know how and why. How things worked, why they happened, why they had to be the way they were. She was always looking to learn and know more. Her father adored her. 

And Peter. Well, there’s not much to say about Peter that I haven’t already told you. He was prickly, and often inappropriate but…

You asked me once, if he was a good person. I don’t remember what I told you back then, but he was, grandmother. He was. 

Attached is a picture of all of us, at the Hale House, from a few years ago. 

Love,

Claudia

To: Cee. [ Stilinski@yahoo.com ](mailto:SStilinski@yahoo.com)

From:  [ Valencia.Baptiste7@yahoo.com ](mailto:Valencia.Baptiste7@yahoo.com)

Claudia, 

My heart breaks for you. I know all too well how it feels when people close to you die. It’s something I hoped you’d never have to know. And I’m so sorry that you do. 

I’ve added some money to the account, with the fervent hope that you will plant nine trees for the Hales, who were so near and dear to your heart. 

That picture, the older gentleman, you said his name was Jacob? He bares a striking resemblance to a girl I knew once in my youth. 

My heart is with you,

Valencia

**2006**

To:  [ Valencia.Baptiste7@yahoo.com ](mailto:Valencia.Baptiste7@yahoo.com)

From:  [ Dr.Deaton@Deatons Veterinary clinic.com ](mailto:Dr.Deaton@Deatonsvetrinaryclinic.com)

Mrs. Baptiste, 

You don’t know me, but my name is Alan Deaton. I was a friend of Claudia’s. We had several interests in common, one of which being an inclination towards magic. Claudia was one of my dearest friends. When I was at a turning point in my life, she put in a good word for me with people who could help me. They protected me and, in turn, I protected them. Ultimately, though, I failed them.

Regardless of my shortcomings, I owed Claudia a debt. She asked that, should anything happen to her, I be the one to inform you, to the best of my ability. 

I don’t know how familiar you are with Claudia’s magic, but she was able to make people do things. It didn’t work on most supernatural creatures, or people she loved very dearly. But she could often make it work on herself. She magicked herself to have a son, for example, so that she could help you break the curse. 

Shortly after the Hales passed, Claudia magicked herself to live until the curse was broken. This was a mistake. If she’d sought any sort of council before she’d done it, well, it doesn’t matter now. She bound herself, and it drove her mad. The curse does not have an expiration date, and you cannot magick death. You cannot outsmart it, the way Claudia tried to. She started forgetting things, small things at first, dates and times, where she’d left her car keys. Eventually, she couldn’t remember my name, or her mother’s name. She forgot John’s and Stiles’ last. 

I begged her to release herself from the magic, and she tried, but I don’t think she had much control over her magic by the end. It was terrible, and painful to watch, but even more painful to experience. 

She passed away on December 31st, 2005. 

She asked me to tell you that my magic is not like hers. I was not born with it, I learned it. It’s inherently linked to the family I’m tasked with protecting. The stronger and more healthy the family, the more my power grows. The family I was tasked to protect was the Hales. With them gone, I am little more than a human with knowledge of magic. I don’t have enough left to continue shielding Stiles as I have been since his birth. We don’t know what will happen now. 

You have my deepest condolences for your loss,

Alan Deaton

\--

Mrs. Baptiste

I regret to inform you that your granddaughter, my wife, Claudia, passed away a week ago, due to complications of frontotemporal dementia. 

I don’t know how much communication the two of you had, but we did give birth to a son. His name is <redacted>. It was my grandfather’s middle name, but you probably know that. We call him Stiles. 

He is all I have left. Ina is dead. My parents, my aunts, my wife, all dead. And I know that if Claudia were here, she’d want me to bring him to you. But, if my wife were here, well...everything would be different, wouldn’t it? 

I will not be bringing Stiles to France. I’ve shipped all of Claudia’s more monetarily valuable belongings. I’ve shredded the card, and the checkbooks she had for your joint accounts. We won’t be needing your money. 

I’m sorry. That’s small to you, I understand, but it’s all I can do. 

Attached is Stiles’ most recent school picture. He has her eyes. 

Johnathan Alexandyr Stilinski

Johnathan Alexandyr,

Your grandmother would be ashamed of you. 

My condolences to you and your family. 

Valencia

**This letter was returned to sender, unopened**

\--

**2011**

It seemed like an age ago and a moment ago that Danielle had died. Strange, she thought, that after all she’d been through, that was the straw that had broken the camel’s back. Her life was divided between when Danielle had been alive, and when she was dead. 

When Valencia had left the hospital after the crash, she’d sold everything she could sell, given away everything she couldn’t. She’d paid for a speck of land with a small log cabin built on it in Bedarieux. It was a tiny town nestled in the Haute-Languedoc  National Park, because Val needed to be closer to the wolves. 

She had her mail and her groceries delivered. They were left at the front door, she never opened it when she knew they were there. The internet, one of the wonders she was glad she got a chance to see, allowed her to pay for the groceries and the parcel delivery without ever having to speak to a real person. 

It was a blessing to her, these days. 

Her life was a simple one. She slept when she felt like it, woke when she felt like it. She was older now, in her eighties, and she’d started to feel frail. She ate a simple breakfast, watched her tv on occasion, but she tried not to get too caught up in it. Honestly, she didn’t know what had possessed her to buy it. For a while, she’d been shopping for Stiles. He was an American boy, she figured. And though her cabin was small, there was no reason it couldn’t have amenities. It’s not like she didn’t have the money for them. 

When Claudia was alive, they’d written each other letters, and through them, Val had learned what Stiles liked. She’d bought a laptop, and then another, when she heard the one she’d originally purchased was outdated. And when  _ that _ one became outdated, she said she’d hold off until he was closer to the appropriate age, and buy him the newest one when he got here. Same for the game console. She didn’t understand how parents these days did it. It seemed as soon as she’d found the right thing, gotten it ordered, had it arrive, and got it set up, it was old news. 

But she kept a bed in the spare room. A king size, because Claudia thought the young man would grow up tall. And books. She bought him all kinds of books, because Claudia said he was curious. Board games and cards, things that never got old. She considered, even, getting a dog. Claudia said there’d been a bitter disagreement, because Stiles wanted one, but John was deathly allergic. 

And even though the young Stilinski had been very clear, that Stiles was not coming, and that Valencia was going to live forever here, in Bedarieux, alone, she still kept his room in order. Still held out hope. 

She didn’t have much else. 

Since those bloody planes had flown into the towers in America, the world had gone mad. There were some things that Val couldn’t order to her little cabin anymore. SHe had to go get them, and show identification at the front desk. She hated it. That people  _ had _ to know her in order for her to get some essential oils and the good medicines for her cough. 

Sometimes she just went without the medicines. She knew that these aches and pains wouldn’t kill her. Nothing would kill her. She’d had a long cry the night she realized that living forever hadn’t necessarily made her impervious to sickness and old age. She wondered exactly how much she would,  _ could _ , deteriorate. 

But today she bundled up in her good coat and scarf and set off into town. 

It was a leisurely walk through her forested area to the main drag of town. She never felt like she was alone in the woods. And, truly, she wasn’t. There was a host of wildlife there, all manner of things to skitter through the brush and make her aware of it’s presence. But lately, she’d been feeling followed through town. 

She told herself it was the paranoia. She’d been caught up in all those news programs talking about terrorists and safety. She’d bought a new lock for her door, even though no one knew where she lived. And, even if they were to come for her, it wasn’t as though she could die. She didn’t have anything of real monetary value in the house, except the TV, she supposed. It was small and utilitarian, but it was new. She kept all the jewelry in a safety deposit box, and her will stated specifically that all of her monetary belongings were to go to Stiles. Hopefully, he would live long enough to use it. Hopefully, she would die soon enough not to need it anymore. 

She turned a corner and saw a flash of movement out of the corner of her eye. Someone was walking behind her. Far enough behind her that she couldn’t immediately turn and see them, but close enough that they wouldn’t lose her. 

Her heart started to beat faster, a mild panic overtaking her. WHo could be following her? Why would anyone be following her? She’d cut herself off from everything and everyone. There was a good chance she would be alive forever. She just wanted her forever to pass in  _ peace _ . 

During her essential oil purchase (she handed a shiny silver plastic card to the clerk, instead of money, or even checks, and she still hadn’t gotten used to it), her anxiety gave way fully to irritation. She would not be bullied or intimidated by some nameless, faceless shadow at the corner of her vision. 

She would know what she was up against. 

The foot traffic died down towards the edge of town, before the forest. And there was a large field of rosemary she passed through the before the tree line. There was no way anyone could follow her through that without her noticing. 

The shops made way to small farms, homes on a bit of land, like Val’s. THe pub was out here, as far away from the church as they could get it without it being outside the city limits. Valencia ducked inside. 

She took a table in the back, facing the front door, so that she could see anyone who walked in. 

“We don’t see you around much,” the waitress said, conversational as she came by to give the table a courtesy wipe down. “What can I get you?” 

“I’ll take a scotch, please.” Valencia replied, keeping her tone even and her face straight. She didn’t stop in to pubs because people made idle conversation in them. And people Valencia made idle conversation with died these days. 

“Yes, ma’am,” the girl said, clearly discouraged. 

There’d been a time when Val felt guilty about letting people down this way, but the time had long since passed. That young girl would live a healthy and happy life now, for the cost of one less than friendly customer. And Val would tip her well. She always did. 

The bell over the door jingled, and her eyes snapped to them. 

At first it was hard to tell who’d come in, as covered in filthy brown rags as they were. They kept their head low, bundling into a bar stool in the far corner.

The waitress came back over with her scotch. “Bring one to the person at the end of the bar, as well, please.” Valencia commanded, placing a larger than necessary bill on the table. She wanted to wink, to let the waitress know that they were in on some great scheme together, but she couldn’t. She had to remain passive. 

“Yes, ma’am,” she said, sounding a little less burdened than she had last time. Val felt the corners of her mouth twitch up and quickly schooled them back into place. 

She watched as the waitress delivered the scotch, as the bedraggled creature asked where it had come from, as the waitress pointed. 

She watched as the creature’s head moved in her direction, though their eyes never met, Val still hadn’t seen them. She watched as the cloth covered shoulders hunched in defeat. 

This person left their corner stool, and made their way over, slowly, to Valencia’s table, lowering herself across the booth. 

“I don’t have time for games, you understand,” Val said easily. 

And the creature let out a sound that was rough for a laugh but strangely melodic for a cough. 

It sat up straight, and pushed the hood off their head.

Her head.

Her hair was dirt brown, with streaks of gray. Her face was riddled with wrinkles, showing more worry than laughter. Valencia knew the look. Her eyes were green. Green like the ocean struggled to hold on to after a storm. 

Remaarah Keller. 

“You have nothing but time, Valencia. And so do I.” 


	14. Ch 7: Traitor II

**Chris:**

If he thought far enough back, in some dim recess of his mind, Christopher Argent remembered his mother, remembered when the Argents had been led by a strong female hunter, with an ironclad sense of what they should be doing.

His mother had always thought that it was the Argents' duty to make sure werewolves didn’t hurt anyone. Not to hurt werewolves, just to make sure they stayed controlled, contained.

If he thought back far enough, Christopher could remember when there’d been a truce. When if a pack wanted to bite a human, that packs Alpha and the human in question met with his mother and stated their case. He remembered a time when everything had been handled fairly, before all the hate.

And, really, if he thought back, if he really pressed at it, he knew that the circumstances of his mother’s death were suspicious. That the police had even launched an investigation, before suddenly all agreeing on natural causes.

But, generally, Chris didn’t think back that far.

As a man in the Argent family, he hadn't been trained to strategize, to think too far out of his box. He’d been trained to follow orders. And Kate, his little sister, had been trained to give them.

So when she’d stormed back into the warehouse the night before and said, “the Stilinski kids out, we need another option.” He hadn’t put up too much of a fuss when his father had suggested they kidnap Danny’s daughter.

“But, she’s a kid…” he remembers saying. His father’s face had twisted into a sneer.

"She’s a smaller monster. But not a child, Christopher. How long will it take you to figure that out?”

Maybe just a little longer, Chris had thought, but he’d said nothing. Just nodded.

The north wing of the elementary school was long since closed down. There’d been a massive petition a few years back, the structural integrity on that side of the school was terrible, and it just wasn’t safe to have kids in anymore. The remodel was something big expensive thing the Mayor had planned for three years out. In the meantime, they just padlocked all the doors to keep the kids out.

Every now and then, they had the city come out and do an inspection, make sure the whole thing wasn’t going to come tumbling down on top of them. The real inspection was due in three days, so it was easy for Chris to show up in a rented white truck, hard hat, bag full of tools, and pretend the city had sent someone early.

Too easy.

He stopped in the old library, which was in about the center of the wing, and pulled Kate’s device from out of the bag. In her time in Utah, Kate had made some terrifying things, and this was one of the worst. The bomb would completely destroy anything within fifty feet and, given the poor integrity of the building in the first place, cave in at least one bit of the ceiling. It would definitely be enough to force an evacuation, which was the plan.

Worse than that, though, was that it was made entirely of household products and, once ignited, would burn down to things that could be found in any janitor’s closet in the country, completely untraceable.

He set the device on what was probably once a reference desk, and strolled out of the room, whistling.

He slid back into the truck, and slowly drove out of the parking lot, no one even noticing that he’d been there. When he reached the stop light around the corner, he pressed the button on the detonator Kate had given him, and his whole body shook as a quarter of the elementary school when up in smoke.

Now, he needed to move quickly.

The rental car was ditched down by the creek, the hard hat tossed into the high trees surrounding the water. He jogged back to the warehouse via an old trail that few knew about, switched into his own car, and drove back to the school.

it was chaos.

Chris didn’t even bother trying to park the car, just pulled up to the nearest curb and hopped out, eyes scanning for Abigail. There were children crying all around him, crying for the parents or their teachers or their friends. The teachers weren’t faring much better, most of their eyes glazed over, stumbling around in shock.

Abby was smart, though, she waited near the door of her grandmother’s classroom, though no one was in it.

“Abby?” He said quietly, and she glanced up at him with wide, scared eyes.

“Hi Mr. Chris.”

“Are you alright?”

“Yes. But I can’t find grandma.”

“She’s busy. She’s helping some of the other kids find their parents,” the lie tasted like lead on his tongue. “She asked me to get you out of here. Is that alright?”

Abby nodded slowly, and Chris held out a hand for her. She took it, and let him lead her out to the car.

Once they were on the road, Abby asked where they were going.

“The pack,” he said slowly, trying to gauge her reaction, “wanted me to take you far away. They think someone might be trying to hurt you. They want me to keep you safe.”

Abby’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not supposed to know about the pack. Uncle Scott said. Who told you?”

“Laura told me.” He said easily. It wasn’t a lie, so there was nothing for her to hear.

She nodded, and went back to looking out the window.

The safe house he’d established in King’s County was deliberately far away from Beacon Hills. The sun was just barely starting to set when they pulled up in the driveway, and Chris realized Abby had fallen asleep in the back seat.

She started to wake when he carried her out, whining into his shoulder. “Where’d Daddy? This place doesn’t smell like Daddy…”

“No, Daddy wanted me to take you far away, remember? Daddy and the rest of the pack are helping to clean up the mess at the school. They’ll be busy for a few days, and you’ll stay here with me. Do you understand?”

“Mhm,” she said, nuzzling into him. “I'll be safe with you.”

_ Monster, monster, monster,  _ he chanted in his head, to remind himself that there was a threat behind the guise of this sleeping little girl.

He carried her through the dark house, into the room he’d set up just for her. He basically found everything pink and Disney themed and shoved it into one room.

“Goodnight, Abby,” he murmured as he laid her in bed. She muttered something in response, thought he couldn’t be sure what. He smiled as he let himself out.

As he settled into his own bed, he thought that this might be easier than he’d expected. It seemed she understood that the pack was busy, and that she was safe here. He hoped against hope that he wouldn’t have to hurt her, or subdue her in any way, really.

_ Monster, monster, monster _ , he chanted as he fell asleep.

As understanding as she’d been in sleep the day before, the reality was that his ruse had bought him a little under twenty four hours.

It was a good twenty four hours, at least. Abby was an early rise, but so was Chris. They had a light breakfast, then went to the store to get some food she liked. Chris let her run around at the park for a few hours, took her for ice cream after. Then he let her watch Frozen on the big TV in the living room while he communicated with his sister and father that everything really was going fine. He even applauded when she hit the high note in Let it Go (it seemed like she was expecting it).

She took a nap, and when she woke up, she stumbled through a story book she’d had tucked away in her backpack. Then she ate some more, two grilled cheese sandwiches and a bowl of tomato soup.

Towards the end of the day, she let Chris give her a bath.

“Don’t get my hair wet!” She cried. “It takes  _ forever _ to dry, and if I go to sleep with it wet, I’ll be all sniffly in the morning.”

Which…what? “I’ve never known you to be sick,” he said, keeping his voice even.

She nodded, though, like she knew what he meant even though she couldn’t because she was eight.

“Daddy and Uncle Scott say it’s because I’m still little. When I’m bigger, my ‘mmune system will get better and I won’t get sick anymore!”

She beamed, and there was no artifice in her words. Chris started to think maybe that’s really what Scott and Danny taught her.

“But for now,” she continued, “I still get sniffly. It goes away really fast, but nobody wants to wake up sniffly. So don’t get my hair wet.”

She pointed a soapy finger at his chest and held it there.

Chris nodded dutifully.  _ Monster, monster, monster _ , he tried, but it just wasn’t sticking.

So, all in all, it’d been a pretty easy day. Up until he tried to put her to bed.

“Not yet,” she said, as he tucked her in.

“It’s getting late, Abby,” Chris said firmly.

“I know, but I’ve gotta wait for Daddy to call. He calls every night if I’m not with him, and I slept through it last night.”

Chris hesitated. “I don’t think daddy’s going to have time to call tonight.”

“No. He makes time. He always calls. If he doesn’t call that means I’m…” she trailed off, eyes going wide and knowing all at once. “In danger…” she whispered.

“What’s the pack called?” She asked him, eyes going narrow and sharp. It was a test, and one he was bound to fail.

“It’s…uh…”

“I’m not safe with you, am I Mr. Chris?”

And Chris had been hunting werewolves for more than half his life. He knew how to control his responses, but when she asked him that way, his gut clenched and his heart went crazy. And then it was too late.

Abby lunged at him, eyes flaring gold.

None of his defensive maneuvers worked against an eight year old. He wasn’t going to throw her back against the wall. Wasn’t going to go for his boot knife.

Instead he just…caught her. He held her steady when she landed at his chest, while she slashed at his face.

They were prepared for this, was the funny part. Prepared for her to find out and react this way. The house’s basement was fitted with wolfsbane infused iron shackles made special for Abby’s little wrists. He could keep her here for as long as he needed her.

He realized, though, as the pain from her scratches lanced up through his neck and shoulders, that he wasn’t going to do that at all.

“Take me home!” Abby was screaming. “Take me home!”

Nodding, Chris decided he’d do just that.

He set her down, and she kicked violently at his shin, clawed toes lodging into the flesh there. She overbalanced when she tried to pull away, and fell on her back, sobbing.

“Take me home,” she snuffled, face hidden behind her hands.

\--

She insisted on riding in the front seat on the way back.

“So I can see where you’re taking me.” She was out of the beta shift, but her eyes were still a steady and unnerving gold.

“You’re too small for the front seat,” He said automatically, fiddling with the already damp bandages on his cheeks. He was going to need stitches. Abby's’ scratches were shorter, closer together, but they were  _ not _ shallow. He was glad she hadn’t gone for anything vital.

Now, she was looking at him coolly, like he was an idiot.

“I’m not going to die,” she said slowly, like she was trying to explain. “I’m riding in front.”

Chris sighed as she pulled open the front door and slid into the seat.

“The police might see you,” Chris reasoned. “They might stop us.”

‘Good,” she nodded, eyes straight ahead. “I shouldn’t be with you anyway. You’re a kidnapper.”

The click of her seat belt was loud in the resulting silence.

He drove her back across the county line, back into the city limits, straight to her father’s house. Had to park down the block for all the cars parked outside, including one police cruiser. It seemed the whole pack was there, waiting.

And when Danny opened the door, saw his daughter standing perfectly unharmed on his front step,with Chris Argent’s hand on her shoulder, he barked out a laugh.

Then he burst into tears.

Then he punched Chris dead in the nose.

**Danny:**

Allison was screaming.

“Danny!” She cried out. “Danny, stop! You’re  _ hurting _ him!” And yeah, that was definitely the point. 

As soon as he’d seen Chris Argent’s hand on his daughter’s shoulder, he’d lost it. He’d only had the presence of mind to separate them before he’d punched Argent in his already bloody jaw.

There was a sick, sharp thrill that came with the knowledge that Abby fought. That she’d made this man  _ bleed _ and bring her home.

Danny punched Chris again. And again, and again. He couldn’t feel his hand anymore.

The older man wasn’t fighting back. His hands were limp at his sides and his eyes were glazing over.

Something cracked, either in Danny’s hand or in Chris’ face, and an instant later arms like steel bands were scooping him up, pulling him back.

He fought, hard, pulling against whichever werewolf was holding him.

“Woah there, Chapman,” Isaac breathed against his ear. “Pennsatucky needs a break.”

Danny snorted out a laugh against his will, and just like that, all the fight was drained out of him. Sagging back into isaac’s arms, he watched Laura drag Chris up off the floor by his shirt front, pressing him back against the front door.

“Give me a reason,” she snarled at him, eyes red, “A single reason why I shouldn’t let him finish you off.”

Abby quietly moved to Danny’s side, tucking herself up under his arm. She’d spent the first part of the fight bouncing back and forth between Scott and Erica, scenting.

“I didn’t hurt her. She’s fine.” Chris coughed. There was a bulge in his jaw that made Danny think he might have broken it. He grinned in satisfaction.

“That’s not a reason,” Laura growled, hand moving from the front of Chris’ shirt to his throat.

“I can help you. I know my sister, my father. I know the plan.” He gasped, but Laura’s hold only tightened.

“You’d betray your family?”

“They made…they made Vic kill herself. They had me kidnap a child. Threatened to kill Allison if I didn’t. They…they turned their backs first. And now someone has to do something. To stop them.”

His breathing was labored now, face red and sweating.

“Laura, please,” Allison whimpered.

The alpha dropped Chris.

His bandages were soaked through with dark red blood, eyes and lips both swollen almost past recognition.

Laura turned to look at the pack.

"Do you guys have someone we can call to patch him up?”

**Chris:**

Melissa’s Stilinski’s hands were gentle, even as her eyes were hard. She’d arrived ten minutes after they’d called her, and promptly swept Abigail up into the biggest hug.

Then, she’d spent a deliberate amount of time tending to Danny’s hand.

“Mom,” Scott had murmured at some point, “he looks really bad.”

“He’ll live,” Melissa spat, voice like acid, eyes never leaving Danny’s bandages.

“Mom,  _ Allison _ ,” Scott whispered harshly, and Melissa looked over at her daughter in law with kind eyes.

“Of course, dear,” she’d said, ‘I’m sorry.”

When she came to sit in front of him, John moved with her, taking a chair from the dining room table and setting it as close as possible.

“If you so much as hiss at her,” he said, voice carefully light, “I will shoot you.”

Chris nodded with a stiff neck.

“His jaw’s broken,” Melissa said to no one in particular. “There’s not much I can do about that. It’s going to hurt for him to talk much without drugs, but I brought some if that’s what you need him for. And I’ll stitch him up, no use in him bleeding all over everything.”

“We appreciate it, ma’am,” Laura said quietly.

“You call me Melissa,” the nurse said as she got to work.

It wasn’t long before she started to speak to him.

She was stitching up his face, the local anesthetic feeling like mercy on his skin, when she started to speak.

“I’m a trauma nurse, you know,” she said, “so I stitch up criminals all the time,” her tone was easy, conversational. “And I hate it, crime that is. But I understand it in most cases. Normally,” she continued, cutting a thread and starting on the next gash. “I feel kinda sorry for the guys I take care of. Not you, though. I’m just incredibly disappointed in you.”

There was no anesthetic for the next cut, but passing out kind of felt like mercy, too.

Allison:

She felt like it wasn’t even her father sitting at Danny’s dining room table across from Laura and Stiles. She could hardly recognize him.

And it wasn’t just his face, swollen and bloody, no. It was his whole demeanor.

Her father had always been quiet, always firm and a little reserved. After her mother died, he’d been angry. Not at her, though. He told her every day it wasn’t her he was mad at, just the world.

Now, he looked tired, defeated and sad. His shoulders sagged and he couldn’t seem to make eye contact with anyone.

She knew, logically, that this was a victory for the pack, but she couldn’t seem to stop crying.

Scott was wrapped around her like comfort, shushing into her hair as she sobbed, hand rubbing soothing circles over her roiling stomach.

“So,” Laura said stiffly, “earn your keep, Argent.”

“When Kate left town, there was a lot of talk. A lot of eyes on our family. What she did was—“

“Yeah,” Laura cut him off, eyes blazing. “I know what she did.”

“My father, there was a  lot of pressure, from some of the larger hunting families. He had to make it look like she was being punished .So he sent her to our R&D facility in Utah.”

Stiles whistled. “R&D, huh? Sounds boring.”

Chris shook his head. “It was the worst thing he could’ve possibly done. My sister, she’s a genius when it comes to hurting p-people,” he stumbled over the last, as though he wasn’t used to calling weres  _ people _ and Allison’s stomach clenched up all over again.

“Shhh,” Scott whispered, “It's alright, Ally.”

Chris spared her a sad glance before forging on.

“The bomb at the school was one of hers,” he said, and let that hang in the air for a while before taking a deep breath.

“My father’s greatest discovery was that a certain amount of electricity will keep wolves from shifting, suspend the healing process,” he swallowed. “Kate, though…Kate managed to take it a step further. Over the last few years, they’ve been working on a kind of ammunition, charged with varying levels of electricity and a concentrated dosage of wolfsbane. It can stun, sometimes even kill wolves on contact. It’s tested incredibly well.”

Melissa gasped, and Derek growled low in his throat, but Allison was the only one who spoke.

“”You were,” she choked out before she could think better of it, “You were going to kill my family?” She asked, voice rough, eyes watery as she met her father's’.

“ _ I’m _ your family,” he tried, and Allison was all the sudden hot and angry.

“Oh fuck you. You’re  _ nothing _ . This is my family,” She gestured around the room.

“I’m pregnant, you know,” she said, quieter.

It was the first time she’d said it in front of their parents. Melissa’s eyes filled and John wrapped his arms around his wife, smiling fondly.

Chris’ eyes were wide with shock and panic.

Allison snorted. “Yeah, pregnant. By my werewolf husband. We think the baby might be a wolf too. Would you have killed your grandchild?”

“I didn’t, I don’t hurt children. I didn’t hurt Abby.” Chris pleaded weakly.

“But you were sent to, weren’t you? Aunt Kate sent you to kill Abby. And you were going to do exactly what you were told. You blew up a school. There were  _ kids _ in it. So how long exactly did it take you to have that change of heart? To become this person that doesn’t hurt children?”

“That’s not  _ fair _ , Allison.”

“Fair? Fair?! You would’ve let Kate and Grandpa come to my home and slaughter my child and you—“

The adrenaline in her system turned to nausea fast.

Hand over her mouth, she ran to the bathroom, barely making it before she was vomiting blood into the commode.

She lay  there for a while, forehead pressed against the cool porcelain, because she didn’t know who was waiting on the other side of the door, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to deal with any of them.

Getting up slowly, she rinsed out her mouth with care, and when she opened the door, she was surprised to find Abby standing there, waiting for her.

“Aunty Allison?” The girl asked, and Allison forced a smile at her.

“Yeah, honey?”

“I’m sorry I hurt your daddy. And…I’m sorry my daddy hurt your daddy. I…I think I would cry a whole lot if my daddy was hurt like yours. But I…he  _ stole _ me. And he took me far away and I didn’t know where I was and I was so scared. But I shouldn’t have hurt him. I shouldn’t hurt people. So I’m sorry. I’ll tell him too, if you want. But I’m more sorry to you than to him.”

Allison sighed and scooped Abby up, setting her against her hip. “It’s okay, Abby. I’m not mad. I don’t think he is either. How about we go back, see what’s going on?”

Abby nodded easily, and they walked quietly back into the living room to see the planning in full effect.

“They’re numbers are stronger than yours,” Chris was saying, “You’ll have to be careful.”

“Werewolves,” Laura said, waving a hand, but Chris shook his head.

“We have fifty men, armed with long range guns created specifically to kill werewolves.”

“We?” Laura repeated, eyes narrowing.

“Laura,” Lydia chided, and the two had a silent communication for a while before Laura turned back to Chris.

“What exactly did you have in mind?”

“You’d need the element of surprise. A lot of the foot soldiers, they’re untrained. They wouldn’t know what to do if they got blitzed. And, in the chaos of an ambush, Kate would have a hell of a time trying to organize them.”

“Wouldn’t they just be shooting at random?” Lydia asked, and Chris nodded.

“yes, but that’s what we want. The new guns, they’ve got a lot of kick back, and none of these guys are really great shots to begin with. Plus, once the guns are fired, they need a few minutes to recharge before they can fire again.”

Laura was nodding now. “So we move in waves? Diversion, wait for the shots and then do as much damage as we can while the guns recharge. Then duck back out before the next volley of shots.”

Chris hummed in agreement. “It’ll only work once or twice. We can’t give Kate time to pick up on a pattern. Our biggest allies here are speed and confusion.”

“Maybe groups then? Derek, Boyd and I starting the wave, then Isaac, Erica and Scott attacking from another side? What would we have the humans do?”

“That sounds good. It’ll be more dangerous for the humans on the ground…”

“We need an eye in the sky,” Allison found herself saying. “I’ll do it.”

Scott’s growl was loud and visceral.

Chris flinched and reached for his gun on instinct, despite not having one.

“You’re not going to be anywhere near it!”

She’d expected his outburst though, so she only sighed. “Scott, don’t be ridiculous. I’m the best shot we have.”

Her father cleared his throat. “Actually, I’m the best shot we,” he spared at look at Laura, “ _ we _ have. You’re vulnerable, Ally. We can’t risk you.”

“He is right,” Laura said, voice gentle. “You have considerable gifts, Allison, don’t get me wrong. But we’d never put you in harm’s way like that. You’ll stay away from the fighting. With the Stilinskis, maybe?” She glanced over at John, who nodded.

“Of course. The kid, and Abby too.” He said.

Shane started shaking his head. “No! No, I can’t! I might hurt them!”

“You won’t,” Laura said, rumbling at him. “yes, Shane, you have the power to hurt people, but you also have the power to protect them. That’s what we’re asking you to do. Protect the pack.”

Shane whined, but nodded.

Abby squirmed until Allison let her down and she shuffled over to him.

“I know it’s hard at first, but I’ll help you if you want.” She flashed her eyes at him, and his flashed back in involuntary response.

Her father gasped. “Who did he…”

“It’s none of your concern.” Laura said quickly.

“I think it is,” Chris insisted.

“Luckily,” Lydia said, voice icy from her stool in the corner, “no one cares much what you think. This is a pack matter. Now when exactly is the surprise attack of yours?” She asked, redirecting the conversation.

“It will have to be tomorrow. They’re training the new guys at the old field at the edge of town.”

“Will they stick to their schedule knowing that you’ve defected?”

“They don’t know that I’ve defected. My orders were to check in every twenty four hours. I checked in six hours ago. And even if they do suspect, the last thing my sister is expecting is a direct attack.”

“Tomorrow we go to war, then,” Stiles said quietly.

Everyone shifted uncomfortably.

“Shane will stay here, with Danny and Abby tonight,” Lydia said. “The sheriff can come pick them up in the morning.”

John nodded easily.

“I’ll stay too,” Isaac said, and Danny rolled his eyes but Laura nodded.

“If you don’t mind,” she said, looking at Danny, “I’d like for there to be an older wolf here, for supervision.”

“I don’t mind,” Danny muttered.

“Everyone else,” Laura said, looking around at them, “Go home.”

The pack started gathering together, splitting off into their normal groups. Scott found her, wrapping an arm around her waist and nuzzling into her neck. He was worried, she could feel it. They all were.

Her father cleared his throat. “I’ll just be heading back to King’s County then.”

‘What?” Allison asked when no one else seemed to care.

“I  can’t go back to the house, they’d suspect.” He said.

“King’s County is more than an hour out. You’re integral to this plan you can’t just…fuck off to King’s County the night before my family goes to carry out your half assed plan.” She raged. Scott gripped her tighter.

“Ally,” he murmured, like a warning, in her ear, but then her father was yelling right back at her.

“Well what would you have me do then?  Sleep in my car in Mahealani’s driveway?”

“You’re coming home with us. Obviously.”

Scott stiffened behind her but didn’t say anything. Chris seemed completely at a loss.

“What?”

“You’ll come and stay in our guest room. You’re my father. You’re coming home with us,” she repeated until it felt right in her mouth.

“I don’t think Scott…”

Her husband’s head came up. “Don’t put me in this. I don’t argue with the pregnant lady. Worst case, you try to kill me in my sleep. And then you’ve got her to deal with. I don’t like your odds.”

“She growls now, you know,” Stiles chirped cheerily from somewhere near the front door.

“Ally says you come home, you come home. You’ll have to ride in the back, though.” Scott continued amiably as they headed towards the door.

And Chris, after another dumbfounded moment, followed them.

Isaac:

“No, you’ve gotta breathe or it won’t work. Real steady, like you’re trying to go to sleep. And you can’t let your heartbeat get all crazy either,” Abby said patiently. She had two claws on her left hand extended, and she was trying to teach Shane how to do them one at a time.

The older boy growled at her. Danny’s eyes widened in concern, but Abby just nodded.

“I know, I know. It’s hard. It took me  _ forever _ but you can do it. Daddy said you can do the full shift,” the awe in her voice was palpable, and Isaac saw Shane puff up to hear it. “So I know you can do this. Just breathe right, and it’ll be fine.”

Shane tried again.

Isaac was sitting in the doorway, far enough away not to be a distraction, but close enough to keep anyone from getting hurt. They were upstairs in Abby’s room, which basically looked like the color pink had thrown up all over it.

The young werewolf had positioned Danny on her bed, still wary of having him too far away, before she’d commanded the other wolf to sit opposite her on the floor.

Isaac wondered if she’d ever been in line for Alpha, as bossy as she was.

“Holy shit,” Shane said quietly.

“Language,” Danny said, trying to be firm, but Abby was giggling. Shane had the claw of his index finger extended, and he was looking at it like it was the most magical thing in the world.

“Try to do another one!” Abby said, excited.

Shane nodded, breathing slowly, and he focused hard on his middle finger.

The nail changed, claw curving up and out right in front of his eyes.

Isaac grinned.

“Holy,” Shane repeated, but Danny cleared his throat.

"Crap,” the kid muttered guiltily, and Isaac couldn’t help the bark of a laugh that escaped him.

Soon Abby was laughing too, then Danny fell victim.

Shane didn’t laugh, but he smiled bigger than he had since he’d been here, so Isaac counted it as a win.

**Derek:**

“We should both be asleep right now,” he murmured into the dark, quiet room. Stiles was wrapped around him, arms banded tight across his chest and stomach. His breathing was steady, but his heart was still too fast for sleep.

“Probably,” he muttered into Derek’s hair.

“Are you nervous?” Derek asked, turning to face him. Stiles grumbled.

He looked like he’d been asleep, hair sticking this way and that, eyes glazed a little, voice a few notes lower than normal.

“Sure. Tomorrow’s gonna be a shit show, for sure. There’s plenty to be nervous about.” He shrugged one shoulder, but his heartbeat was steady.

“You don’t seem nervous.” Derek grunted, but it came out sounding more petulant than anything.

Stiles propped himself up on his elbow and looked down at Derek.

“We’ve done this before. This thing where we run into battle with a very limited idea of what we’re doing? We’re pretty good at it. I know that sounds insane but…this is probably the most prepared we’ve ever been for a confrontation. Ever. We’re short. Jackson's out, and Allison. But we’ve got you, and Laura, and Isaac and Boyd and…Chris Argent, I fucking guess, weird as that is. So, yeah, I’m nervous but I truly think we’re gonna be okay.”

Derek nodded. “You’re a good second. That’s the kind of optimism a pack needs.”

“We’re co-seconds,” Stiles said immediately, nudging Derek’s ribs. “Talk to me. What’s going on with you?”

“It’s Kate. It’s…this whole thing, honestly. Laura’s always wanted vengeance. She’s always thought the only way we could move on and grow is if we finished this thing with the Argents, destroyed them like they tried to destroy us but. She’s never really understood.”

“Understood what?” Stiles said, brow furrowed.

“They didn’t destroy us. I did,” he said out into the dark. And it wasn’t the first time he’d said it, but it’s the first time he’d said it to someone who wasn’t Laura; someone who wasn’t obligated to ignore him and love him anyway.

But Stiles just said, “tell me what happened,” and leaned down into him, pressing his nose into Derek’s hair and it was such a pack thing to do. Derek would never know how this human always seemed to do the  _ right _ thing, but he did. The older man could feel his eyes well up.

‘”I was…Gerard Argent used to be the principal at the high school. Kate used to drop by. His baby girl, you know. She’d just finished college, and he was so proud of her, liked to show her off all over the place. She’d said she wanted to be a teacher, so he let her sit in on classes sometimes, nobody minded really, and that’s where we met.”

“You were in school?” Stiles said, incredulous.

“I was fifteen the first time I met her. My math teacher had some sort of family emergency  and couldn’t stay for our tutoring session, and Kate offered to take over. And we just…started talking.

It wasn’t fast or anything. I thought she was cool. She didn’t treat me like a little kid, she talked to me like I was an adult, like the shit I said mattered, you know. She took me seriously, or she made me feel like she did. She let me curse around her, told me stories of college and what it was like. It was months of this. When school let out for summer we started hanging out. Still nothing major, we’d meet up at the school still, on the bleachers or in the gym, they’d keep it open for the indoor basketball courts when it got too hot.

Then one night she brought me a beer. And I knew I couldn’t get drunk but I didn’t want to turn her down and look like a loser so I drank it. She’d laced them…I know that now. One turned into another and another and then, well….you saw.”

Stiles was silent for a moment, then he flailed. “That was…that was the  _ first _ time? You shifted the  _ first _ time?!”

“I didn’t know how to stop it. I was drunk, and it was my first time. And she didn’t freak out. She was so cool about it. She said she’d met some ‘wolves in college. She got off on calling me a monster, though. And a puppy. And I…I was sixteen. I got off on her getting off.”

“How long between that and…”

“Ten days. The fire was ten days later. Once I knew she knew about weres, I told her everything. That same night, after, while I was sobering up. And she smiled, and said she was so glad that I could be so open with her. I told her everything and she burned my whole family alive. The whole thing is my fault.”

“I….” Stiles started, “don’t you  _ ever _ say that again. Don’t you  _ ever _ let me hear you…I can’t even  _ believe _ ,”

Derek flinched away from the fury rolling off Stiles.

‘I’m sorry. I know that it’s upsetting I just thought….”

“You’re  _  sorry _ ?! What the hell are you….I’m not mad at  _ you!!”  _ Stiles raged. He rolled out of bed, pacing.

“That conniving **bitch**!” He cried. “She…Derek she _drugged_ you, and she _raped_ you and she took advantage of you and **none of this** is your fault!” He said, stopping to look at Derek, trying to make sure he understood.

Derek just shook his head though, curled in on himself a little more.

Stiles face went hard, and he nodded. ‘I’m going to kill her,” he said, more to himself than anyone else.

Derek whimpered. He couldn’t help it. He didn’t like thinking about it, about hurting Kate. If she deserved to die, he figured, then so did he. She never would’ve been able to do it without him.

Stiles rushed back to his side, shushing him easily.

‘Hey, it’s okay. It’s gonna be okay. This isn’t your fault. I know you don’t believe that now, because you’ve spent so long convincing yourself that it is, but it’s not, Der. It’s not. This isn’t your fault.”

Derek didn’t believe him, couldn’t. But it felt good anyway, to let himself drift off in Stiles’ arms. To let himself believe the lie. 


	15. Interlude: Ramaarah

Valencia blinked at her. She reached a shaking hand out for her scotch, draining it. The hand that set it back down was more steady. Still, she didn’t speak. They just looked at each other for long moments under the dim lights of the pub.

Eventually, the younger woman nodded. “Alright,” she said, as though they’d been in the middle of some conversation. “Come on, then.” 

She dropped money for both drinks on the table, and carried herself out of the pub with all the regal grace she’d carried herself in with. Remaarah scrambled behind her. 

Neither woman said a word as they walked across the rosemary field, into the woods. Valencia walked quickly, but Remaarah kept pace. She’d been stalking the woman in these very woods for a month or so now, she knew the way. 

Val let herself into her gate, and Remaarah closed it after them. Same for the front door. Remaarah had just turned from closing the door when she was hit. A cane swung out from nowhere, catching her across the face. She felt blood in her mouth, and cried out as she fell. 

“You’re lucky,” she heard Valencia say as she got her bearings. “I’m an old woman. I can’t say I have the energy to do to you what you did to me.” Remaarah closed her eyes and tried to breathe. She listened as Valencia put the cane down and moved around the front of the cabin. She washed her hands, it sounded like, and sat down on a chair. She could feel eyes on her, knew that Valencia was watching.

“I deserved that,” she croaked eventually, sitting up. She couldn’t stand yet, she knew, her head was still spinning from the fall, but she could look Valencia in the face at least. 

The younger woman snorted. “You deserve worse than that. What are you doing here?” 

“I didn’t have anywhere else to go.” She responded simply.

“And you thought I’d want to see your face?” 

“I thought,” Remaarah started, not sure what to say. “I owe you an apology. And an explanation, I think. I could’ve wandered and hopefully, eventually died. But to do that without looking you in the eye and apologizing to you seemed cowardly.” She paused. “I am a lot of things, Valencia, but I am not a coward.” 

Valencia just snorted again, and stared at her. 

“I should not have cursed you.” Remaarah said simply. 

“Then undo it. Release me from this,” Valencia snapped, but Remaarah shook her head.

“I can’t.” 

“Then what good are you to me?” 

Remaarah shook her head again. 

“I loved Emory Hale.” she said, smiling. “You, you didn’t know him long, but you got a glimpse of what he was like. A magnet. The sun. Gods, I loved him. I’m Romani, by blood. They used to call us gypsies. We moved from place to place. Emory and his family weren’t Romani. He used to say they were Greek. But they traveled with us sometimes. Everyone is strange, in camps like that, there wasn’t a lot of judgment.” 

“Why do you think I care?” Valencia snapped, and Remaarah huffed at her. 

“Do you have some pressing business I’m keeping you from?” She asked. 

“I’ll remind you that the cane is not far enough away for your sass, demon. You have no right to take that tone with me in my house.” 

Remaarah held her hands up in surrender. “You’re right. I think you do care, Val. I think you do want to know why this happened to you, and what manner of person caused it.” 

She pushed herself off the ground. “I think that because you invited me here, when you could’ve just left the pub.” 

“You just would’ve kept following me.” 

“Yes, but you could’ve ignored me. You were curious. You wanted to know. Now let me tell you.” 

The younger woman nodded, jaw clenched, and motioned at her to carry on. 

“His parents died a few years before we met you. My mother took him in a little, looked after him. And I loved him. I wasn’t jealous of Danielle.” There was a flash of hurt in Valencia’s eyes at the name. “Not at first. I didn’t care if he had a spot of fun, I knew that eventually we would move on, and he would come with us, and she would stay where she was.

“But he fell in love with her. He thought that he could convince her to run away with him. He told her he loved her, and that he could build a life for her. It wouldn’t be lavish like she was used to, but it would be good. 

“She laughed at him. She told him that she couldn’t very well marry the  _ help _ . It crushed him, Valencia. He was miserable for weeks. And then he got the invitation to her birthday party. She came to visit him at the mill to ask him to keep an eye on you at the party. She asked for it as a parting gift. She paid him. She paid him to watch you at the party. She said that she couldn’t give him anything else, anymore of her  _ time _ , but she’d compensate him to do this favor for her. He took the money.” 

Valencia had dropped her eyes. She had the grace to look at least a little ashamed. 

“He told me all about you. Or at least, what she’d told him. Little cousin, from Vigo, only in town for a day or two. So when I saw the two of you, I thought you were just like your cousin. I thought you were just using him, like some kind of prostitute. That Danielle had paid him to take your virginity, to make it nice for you. I thought the two of you had sat up and planned it, how everyone should get a taste of this stupid town boy before they got along with their regular business. I loved him and I thought you were hurting him. 

But you’re nothing like your cousin, are you?” 

Valencia shook her head. “She’s dead, you know. Killed by your curse.” 

“I won’t apologize for that. I’ll apologize to you, for the things I’ve done that have hurt you. But Danielle Montenegro is probably who I should’ve cursed that night. So I won’t say I’m not pleased she’s dead.”  

“If you’d cursed her, she’d be alive.” 

Remaarah shrugged. “Maybe. Can I finish?” 

Valencia gave a gesture that meant go ahead. 

“After I’d cursed you, when Emory dragged me out, and back to the camp. He explained that you weren’t like that. He was  _ furious _ about the curse. I mostly felt guilty that I’d hit you, there was no reason for that. My mother had taught me about magic my whole life. She’d taught me that it was real, and that it was true. And I’d always, for some reason, I’d always thought that it would only land on someone who deserved it.”

Valencia sputtered. “I hadn’t  _ done _ anything!” 

“You’re right. You hadn’t. I was foolish. So, so foolish. I shrugged the curse off, as I imagine you did too, for a while. Emory and I got married, and I thought, finally, that we would be happy.” 

She sighed. 

“I got pregnant in February of ‘51, and I was so happy. Emory was so happy. He’d been from a big family, but there’d been some trouble, and some of them had been killed. His parents had been badly injured, it was those injuries that they’d died from a while before we met you. He was desperate for a family. And I was more than happy to give it to him. But it wasn’t to be. I delivered, a baby boy that we’d named Lucas. He was always so calm, so still. He died in the night, two weeks after he was born.” 

Valencia shuddered. 

“I was beside myself but Emory told me that it was alright. We could try again. And we did. And it was…” she trailed off, before taking a deep breath and forging on. “I lost four children. All that same way. Born perfectly healthy, and then dead. I didn’t know what to do.

“I consulted my mother. I thought...I thought some magic had been worked on me. She said that it seemed likely. We talked about it. About all the people I’d met. Anyone who might’ve wished harm on me. I told her about you, she thought you might have done it. Might’ve found some way to work magic on me in return for what I’d done to you. I explained that this probably wasn’t the case, and told her what Emory had told me about you. That you were kind, and you hadn’t actually done anything wrong.

“My mother was furious at this. She was furious that I’d cursed you without knowing whether or not you’d deserved it. I told her what I believed. That it wouldn’t have landed if you didn’t deserve it and she laughed at me. It was the worst sound. She said that sometimes bad things happen to good people. And that now, it was me. I was the bad thing that had happened to a good person.”

She met Valencia’s eyes now. 

“I did not know that I could curse you without you deserving it. I did not know that. And that’s no excuse. I had no business doing magic when I wasn’t sure how to use it. Before I knew the rules of it.” 

There was no forgiveness in Valencia’s face. Remaarah sighed and continued. 

“She explained to me that this was my punishment. That the gods were repaying me for what I’d done to you. I told you that you would suffer, and everyone would die, until a son born of your blood pulled lightning from the heart of the wolf. She told me that my curse would probably be a mirror image. I didn’t understand what that meant at the time. I still don’t, completely. I do know that I cannot die. I’ve tried. I assume that I will be cursed to this Earth for as long as you are.

I told Emory about the curse and he was furious with me. He’d always hated what I did to you. It wasn’t fair, and I knew that once he’d told me but I acted prematurely. We didn’t speak for days. He said he didn’t have anything to say to me. But then it turned cold and…” 

She thought she was too old to blush, but one came to her face at the memory of she and Emery’s night together.

“I was pregnant again in the spring. Emory wanted me to get rid of it. His heart couldn’t take it, you understand. He wasn’t trying to be hurtful to me. He just couldn’t bear to watch another child die. I couldn’t bring myself to. It was my fault, and it was my punishment. I felt like...I felt like getting rid of the child would be trying to get around it, somehow. When I told Emory that I wouldn’t get rid of it he was so...he was so cold to me. He looked at me like he’d never seen me before, like he didn’t understand. But he nodded. It was tense when we went to bed that night. And when I woke he was gone. And that was it...I’ve never known where he went, I don’t know if he’s still alive. I just know that he left me.

“My Jacob was born in high summer, right before the leaves changed. I didn’t name him, at first. I waited two weeks, then three, then four. But Jacob didn’t die. I thought that maybe you had. Died, that is. I thought that maybe the curse was lifted. 

My mother passed, but it was quietly, and in her sleep. She didn’t have any pain. I thought everything was alright now. And it was. Until Jacob was thirteen. He’d been complaining of aches. At first I thought they were just growing pains, but he kept complaining. He wasn’t a whiner, my Jacob. I knew something must’ve really been bothering him. I sent him inside to rest, and I had been outside, finishing up his chores for him. 

“There was a commotion, a tearing sound from inside. I ran in to see what the matter was and there was,” she swallowed, “there was a monster where my Jacob had been. A wolf. And it was...a mother has a way of knowing. It was my Jacob. He knew me. 

“The men at camp, they were afraid of it, obviously. They...they were going to kill him. They chased him off and he ran. He ran, and the men chased him. 

They came back a while later. They told me that Jacob had gone over the side of the ravine. They told me he was dead.” 

Tears filled her eyes even though this happened years ago. She still missed her son.

Valencia stared at her for a long moment before nodding, standing up and leaving the room. She returned with a small computer, which she set up in front of Ramaarah. She clicked around, but there was no way for Maarah to know what she was doing. Maarah was no good with computers. She didn’t have enough money to own one and she was never in one place long enough to learn at a library or anything. 

Eventually, she pulled up a picture. She pointed to a man: older, but with gentle eyes and laugh lines in his face. “Is that your Jacob?” Valencia asked, not unkindly. 

Remaarah nodded, stunned. 

Valencia nodded as well. “I thought so. He is dead,” she said quickly, “but he only died six years ago. And as you can see, he lived a full life.” She pointed to the woman standing next to him. “This was his wife, Aria, and these,” her hand moved, “were his children: Talia and Peter. There’s Talia’s husband, Elliot. Peter’s wife, Charlotte. She liked to be called Charlie. These are his grandchildren. Laura, Derek, Cora, Trevor, and Lauren.”

She paused at this last woman. “This, is my granddaughter Claudia. She died. But  _ this _ ,” now she gestured to a small boy standing next to her, “is my great grandson, Stiles. The first son born of my blood in all these years.” 

“My Jacob was a wolf,” Maarah muttered. 

  
“I’m beginning to think they all were. The curse had been making things difficult for Stiles. He was hurting himself, almost getting hit by cars and things of the nature. Claudia said the Hales had been protecting them.” 

“He found a family?” Maarah asked.

“Yes, it seems that he did. Two of his grandchildren survived that fire. Laura,” she gestured, “and Derek. Claudia says Laura and Derek left after the fire, I don’t know where they are now. But this picture was taken in California.” 

“America?!” 

“Yes.” 

She closed the small computer, standing up to go put it away. 

“There is a son born of my blood,” she said as she strode back into the room, “and your great grandchildren are wolves. And here you are, in my living room.” 

She sat down in a chair, looking more regal than any queen, any monied lady Remaarah had ever worked for. 

“What do you think we should do about that?” She asked. 

\--

They didn’t do much of anything. They just stared at each other for a long while. Valencia, queenly and composed, sitting in a chair at the kitchen table. Remaarah, ragged and exhausted, slumped on the floor. 

“Where have you been staying?” Valencia asked eventually. 

Maarah shrugged. “Here and there, I sleep where I can.” 

Val blinked. “Outside?” 

Remaarah nodded. 

Val stood. “Follow me.” 

She followed the younger woman down a hallway into what looked to be a young boy’s bedroom. 

“You can stay here. It was supposed to be for Stiles but...I suppose he isn’t coming.” 

“What on earth is a Stiles, anyway?” Maarah tried. 

Valencia’s eyes sharpened, and for a moment Maarah thought she’d gone too far. But the woman just chortled and shrugged. “His real name is a Polish disaster. It’s better, I promise. You’ll sleep here.” She said, gesturing to the room. 

“You want me to stay in your house?” 

“Yes. I want to keep an eye on you. But also I have questions.”

She sat down on a comfortable blue armchair in a corner of the room, directing Maarah onto the bed. 

“How is he supposed to do it?” She asked. 

“What?”

“How is Stiles supposed to pull lightning from the heart of a wolf?” 

The older woman stared. “I have no idea.” 

“What do you mean?”

“I have no idea how someone pulls lightning from the heart of a wolf. I...I said the most impossible thing I could think of at the moment. Pulls lightning from the heart of the wolf. Topples the sky into the sea. I was nineteen. Those are the kinds of things that sounded scary to me at the time.” 

Valencia deflated. 

“So you’ve….you’ve cursed my family to complete something that can’t be completed. You’ve cursed them to a task that can’t be done? Say Stiles….say Stiles finds a nice girl, and they have a child. He’ll die, won’t he? Like his mother, and her mother before her. And then what? This child has to...what have you  _ done _ Ramaarah?” 

“I have destroyed your life, and your children’s lives. I have destroyed my life, and my children’s lives. And now the two of us are left here. I will do whatever you ask of me. I will leave. Or I will work for you. I cannot fix what I have wrought upon you, but I will do whatever I can to ease the pain of it.” 

Valencia said nothing, just rose from the chair and left the room. 

\-- 

Ramaarah must’ve sat there for hours. Valencia hadn’t asked her to go and she wasn’t particularly inclined to. It was cold out, and her bones ached. The bed she sat on was too soft, but she wasn’t going to complain. She told herself she wasn’t going to lay down, she wasn’t going to make herself comfortable in this woman’s house until she had a better idea of where they stood. 

Rising, she made her way around the room. One wall was filled with books, the shelves built back into the wall. Ramaarah ran her fingers over some of the spines, but she’d never been much good at reading. There hadn’t been all that much cause for it in her life. Emery could read, and she’d made sure Jacob could. But she’d never gotten much past her basic letters. Wasn’t needed often in her line of work. 

A delicious smell hit the air, and Ramaarah thought food might be worth risking Valencia’s ire for. She stepped out into the hallway, and followed it down into the great open living room space. Valencia was standing at the stove, her back to Ramaarah. 

“I imagine you’re hungry.” The younger woman said. 

“If you have any to spare.” 

Valencia gestured to the table. 

They ate in silence. Valencia’s meal wasn’t anything fancy, just chicken and rice and fresh vegetables. Ramaarah could do better, though she daren’t say so. 

“What do you want from me?” She asked quietly, when her plate was empty. 

Valencia looked at her for a long moment. “To be honest with you, I don’t know. I want to hate you. I want to be angry. But I’m old, Ramaarah, and I’m tired. I would be completely in my rights to never forgive you, but holding grudges is exhausting. I haven’t…” she paused, “I haven’t been able to make a friend in almost thirty years. All of my old friends are dead, if I so much as ask someone the time now, they die. It’s unbearable.” 

She sighed, rising from the table and collecting the plates. “If this is to be my existence. If I’m to live out forever like this, I’d just as soon not do it alone. And if you are bound to this fate with me, then you’re my only choice, aren’t you?” 

Turning on the water, she began washing the dishes quickly before loading them into her dishwasher. Ramaarah marveled. She’d seen maybe three dishwashers in her entire life. The expense she must’ve gone to, to get one installed all the way out here. 

“I can’t apologize enough,” she started. Valencia slammed the dishwasher door closed. 

“No, you can’t. So it’s best you stop trying now. I have the space for you. I have the money to support you. If I kick you out you, what? Go back to sleeping outside and following me around? I’d just as soon have you where I can keep an eye on you. Now,” she sat back down in the chair at the kitchen table, “do you know anything about gardening?” 

**2012**

Ramaarah didn’t know anything about gardening. She knew quite a bit about cooking, and cleaning. So much so, in fact, that when Valencia woke up in the morning, the house was usually spotless, breakfast made. 

She let this continue for a while before she got frustrated with it. 

“I’m completely capable of cleaning up after myself, I’ll have you know.” She said one day, when Ramaarah came to collect her plate after breakfast. “I’ve no need for a maid.” 

The older woman stopped for a moment, hands hovering over the plate. “That’s...what I do. That’s all I’ve ever done, really. I cook, and clean and shop for wealthy ladies. In a house like this…” she gestured around, and Valencia looked at her home again as though she’d never seen it before. 

When she looked at her house, it was easy to see everything she’d lost. She’d been born in a large house by the sea. When she left that one for her husband’s home, she’d moved into a larger house in the country, on land. This was nothing in comparison. A shack, two bedrooms and a bathroom, on a half acre of land. There was no study, no office, no music or drawing room. She did her bookkeeping at the kitchen table. 

She imagined what it might look like to Ramaarah, who had grown accustomed to sleeping outside. 

‘It’s not all that,” she murmured. 

Ramaarah chortled. “It is. Once, many years ago, I helped a woman in London furnish a home for her son and daughter-in-law. They’d just been married, and were on their honeymoon. She flipped through catalogues, flitted around designers stores writing down her selections. I called and placed all the orders. That couch,” she points to the comfortable green couch Val sits in to watch tv, “costs twenty seven hundred American dollars. I’ve never seen that much money in my life.” 

Val stiffened again. She’d called herself being restrained when she bought that couch. She’d considered one with a pullout bed, in case Stiles made a friend in town and wanted to have someone over. She’d also considered a gorgeous rose hued loveseat that cost thirteen thousand dollars. The only reason she hadn’t bought it, was because she’d decided that it was frivolous. It wasn’t that she couldn’t afford it, just that she didn’t really need to buy something that cost so much money when it was just her. Maybe just her and Stiles. She didn’t imagine he’d enjoy watching television on a pink couch. 

“Are you very poor?” She found herself asking. 

“I believe the kind of person you would call very poor would still make quite a bit more money than me. I have nothing, Valencia, other than the clothes on my back.” 

They were both quiet as they processed the information. 

“It is my fault,” Ramaarah said again, “that you are cursed to this fate. Forgive my...I don’t mean to be insensitive. I am very glad that you’ve been able to live out this trying time in relative comfort.” 

Valencia nodded, but she felt like the conversation hadn’t really ended. 

\--

“Ramaarah,” Val called through the house. She’d learned, in the last few months, that Ramaarah was slower moving in the morning, her joints bothered her. She was also extraordinarily quiet. If Valencia could die, she was certain Ramaarah would’ve given her a heart attack by now. 

Sure enough, the woman emerged behind her, the moment she took her eyes off the hallway, and scared her half to death. 

“God!” She cried, pressing her hand to her quickly beating heart. 

“I’m sorry?” Ramaarah tried, but Valencia just waved her off. 

“I’m going into town to do the shopping. You’re a better cook than me, I was wondering if you wanted to come?” 

Ramaarah nodded, then looked down at herself. What had looked like tatty rags when they’d first had their reunion proved to actually be tatty rags. She wore a simple brown dress, but Valencia couldn’t tell if it was meant to be brown, or if it had turned that color over time. Her cloak was sturdy wool, but the cut didn’t flatter her at all. It was, in a word, ugly. 

“I’ll embarrass you,” Ramaarah muttered. “You in all your finery, and me looking like a beggar.” 

Valencia held back a scoff. She was wearing a simple wool coat. It was powder blue, which she supposed could be considered frivolous, but an old lady was entitled her pleasures. The coat hadn’t been expensive, but then again. She glanced over at her couch, which she also hadn’t considered expensive. Her pots and pans, which she’d gotten on sale and Ramaarah had almost drooled over. 

“We’ll pick you up some things, while we’re in town.” She said decisively. 

Knowing that Ramaarah would try and argue, she picked up her pocket book and headed out the door. If the woman wanted to fight her, she’d have to follow her. 

“I don’t want your  _ money _ ,” the older woman hissed, predictably trailing behind her as she exited the house. 

Valencia spared her a glance as she locked the front door. “We live in a world full of things we don’t want, you and I. Money, curses. Wanting them doesn’t seem to be the issue. We deal with the hand we’re given.” 

“You’re being  _ dense _ . It’s exactly because I’ve cursed you that I can’t accept you spending money on me. I’ve doomed you to eternity and you’re buying me dresses?! It’s insane, Valencia.” 

“I think, after the life I’ve lived, I’m entitled to a little insanity. And you’re entitled to put up with it, don’t you think?” 

This brought Ramaarah up short. She didn’t have an answer for it. 

Valencia sighed and kept walking. “You cook my meals. And everyone  _ you _ talk to doesn’t die. You’re useful to me. But you’ll do me no good if you’re too scared to go into town, for fear that someone will see you in the clothes you have now. You’re prideful. It’s a sin, but one that I can work around. I have money, Ramaarah, and I will buy whatever I like with it.” 

“What happens when it runs out?” Ramaarah spits. “You could live forever. What happens when you don’t have anymore?” 

“Runs out?! Ramaarah,” Valencia spun to look at her. They were almost approaching the rosemary field now, and this wasn’t a conversation to be had in town, lest she get robbed.

“That land is bought outright, I pay nothing for it. All of my and my husbands considerable funds were invested once I’d bought and furnished it, not withstanding the trust fund for my great grandson. And that is money he may never see, because I’m not sure he knows I exist. Much less that I’m counting on him to lift a curse for me. I am living off the interest of the money that I have in savings. Just the interest, Ramaarah.” 

“I don’t,” Ramaarah hesitated, “I’ve never understood lending and….interest and things,” the older woman muttered. 

“If all of my money is food on a table, the money I need to support myself is only the scraps that fall off.” Valencia explained. “There will always be money. So shut up, and let me buy you a dress.” 

They walked briskly through town. They stopped at the produce market. Valencia handed Ramaarah a few bills from out of her wallet and told her to go pick out what she wanted to cook for the next few days. 

“I try to only come into town twice a month. On alternate schedules, so that I don’t get too friendly with the same shop girls. Things will be different now that I’ll have you to send in instead.” 

Ramaarah didn’t know exactly what to say to that. “You pick terrible produce,” she muttered. 

“Go pick better, than,” Valencia tossed back. She settled herself down on a bench near the door and pulled a book out of her bag. 

Considering herself dismissed, Ramaarah went off deeper into the store. 

\--

“This is quite a haul you’ve picked up,” Valencia remarked casually. They’d had to buy a larger basket. The one Valencia had brought into town to carry their goods had proven to be too small. 

“You’ve been shopping for one person. And you’ve been eating like a peasant. If you insist on giving me a place to live and buying me clothes and being  _ ridiculous _ , the least I can do is make sure you eat well. Plus, diet is important for old women.” 

Valencia snorted. “Just for that, I’m going to buy you a coat that costs four hundred dollars.” 

Ramaarah blustered. “You can’t! You absolutely  _ cannot _ , that’s too much!” 

Grinning, Valencia opened the door to a store with too bright lights and too clean surfaces. “Stop me.” 

Ramaarah walked into the store and had to convince her mouth to close. She was an old woman, it wasn’t proper for her to be gaping like a schoolgirl. It was obvious to her immediately that Valencia shopped here often. Everything looked like her. It was fine and well made, obviously, but understated. It screamed not only money, but money that she was accustomed to, and didn’t need to flaunt. 

“They sell trousers for women here?” Ramaarah asked quietly. 

Valencia nodded. “They have for a while now. Absurd, isn’t it? We’d never have worn trousers when we were young. I have a pair, at home. I wear them when I do the gardening. Doesn’t make sense to muck up a skirt, don’t you think?” 

Ramaarah nodded. She’d worn men’s trousers sometimes, in the camps, out in the forest where no one cared. She hated full skirts while she was working. They always got in the way. 

“I think I’d prefer them...trousers I mean, to dresses.” 

“Call the shop girl over, then, so she can get you fitted.” Valencia nudged her. 

Ramaarah tracked down the shop girl, who looked her over once with disdain. Her eyes lit up when she saw Valencia. 

“Mrs. Baptiste! Welcome in, what can we do for you?” 

Valencia’s face, normally alive with emotion, went blank. “I’d like my housekeeper dressed,” she said, motioning to Ramaarah. Her voice was as flat and emotionless as her eyes. 

“Yes I see!” The girl tittered, “Can’t have her tending house looking like this, now can we?” 

  
Valencia arched an eyebrow at her, clearly unamused. “She’s interested in trousers,” she carried on as though the girl had never spoken. “At least three pairs. A good pair of work shoes, and boots for outside. A  _ good _ winter coat. Gloves, a hat and a scarf ought to do it.” 

She looked over at Ramaarah. “Do you prefer black?”

The older woman shifted, not meeting Valencia’s eye. “Whatever's available will be fine,” she murmured. 

"I've asked what you  _ prefer _ , Maarah." It was the first time Valencia had ever used the nickname. That, coupled with the exasperated tone of her voice, forced Maarah to look up. 

“I’ve never really owned anything that wasn’t black, brown, or gray. Working colors, y’know. Things that would still look alright if they were dirty.” She shrugged and looked down again. 

Valencia nodded, then turned back to the shop girl. “Bring her every color you have.” 

They left the shop with three different trouser sets, a light coat and a heavy coat, two pairs of shoes, and gloves and scarves to match each coat. Ramaarah would never say so, but her favorite was a sage green trouser set. The girl in the shop, whose name was Rinalda, said it complemented her eyes. And it did, despite the fact that she was too old to be picking clothes for such a mundane reason. 

The whole way home, she just kept looking at the bags, running her fingers over the lining of her new wool coat. 

Valencia had spent well over a thousand dollars, and Ramaarah hadn’t even seemed to notice. 

\-- 

**2013**

Remaarah plopped down onto the couch, pouting.

Valencia turned another page in her book and waited. If there was anything she’d learned, it was that Ramaarah would get around to it, eventually. She didn’t look up. 

“I’m bored.” The older woman said eventually. “The house is spotless, dinner for tonight’s already been made, plus a cake, because what else did I have to do? The garden is tended, I’ve taken a nap. I’ve nothing left to do.” 

“You could turn on the television.” 

“I  _ hate  _ the television. There’s too much going on, always. Why must everything blow up? Things I didn’t know could blow up, blowing up, all the time. It gives me a headache.” 

Valencia hummed and turned another page. “You could read a book.” 

Maarah didn’t respond for a long moment. “Is that one any good?” She asked, gesturing to the book Valencia was holding- _Twenty Thousand_ _  Leagues Under the Sea _ . 

Val shrugged. “Depends on what you like, I guess.” 

“I’m not sure what I like, I’m not...much of a reader.” She paused. “What’s it about?” 

“I’ll not spoil it for you. I have loads. I think I even have another copy of this one in Stiles’- your room.” 

“I like my stories told to me, as opposed to reading them.” Maarah said. 

“Well I won’t be reading it to you, like a child,” Val snorted, but she put her book down. “I don’t understand. If you want to be told a story, then why don’t you like the television? There are entire genres that don’t involve anything blowing up.” 

Maarah is staring hard at the title of the book, now that Val’s put it down. “Makes my head hurt,” she replied, distracted. She was still looking at the book title. 

“Something wrong?” Val asked, glancing at the cover herself. 

“There’s no numbers in it.” Ramaarah said quietly. 

“What?” 

“You said it was called 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea. But there’s no numbers. I know what a 2 looks like, even if I’m not the best with big figures.” 

Valencia opened her mouth, but closed it again quickly. She realized the silence was stretching on too long, but she couldn’t do anything about it.

“Maarah...were you never taught to read?” 

The older woman said nothing. 

“It’s alright, if you weren’t. I understand. You’ve had a very different life than me.” 

“Poorer. I’ve had a poorer life than you. I was raised to be a maid. It was all my mother ever expected of me. All anyone ever expected of me. And you don’t need to know how to read to clean. Or cook. Or tend children. And where would I have gotten books? I look around this house, and I see all these books. Hundreds and hundreds of dollars worth of books. Where would we have gotten the money for that?” She cried. 

Valencia looked around. Her shelves were lined with books. Thousands of dollars, more like. But that wouldn’t do any good to say. She also didn’t mention libraries. She held her hands up in surrender. 

“I can teach you, if you’d like?” 

“What good is it to learn how to read now?”  Maarah sulked. 

“Well, you wouldn’t be bored, for one. We could get cookbooks, you could try new recipes.” 

“There are books of recipes?” Maarah asked. 

Val nodded. “Yes, loads of them. We could try food from other countries, other continents. Food from Japan or Mexico.” 

“They wouldn’t sell the ingredients for those things in the local shop.” 

“They might, or we could have them ordered in.” 

“Like from a catalogue?” 

“Probably from the internet,” Val corrected. 

“Oh,” Maarah waved a dismissive hand, “the computer.” 

And Val had always wondered why Ramaarah hated the computer so much. But, without being able to read, she imagined that the computer would be largely pointless to the older woman. 

“Yes,” she said, biting back a smile, “the computer.” 

“I suppose I could learn to read if there could be recipe books.” 

“Alright then, let’s set to teaching you.” 

\--

Maarah proved to be a ready and diligent student. Now that the opportunity to learn was being presented to her, she was hungry for it. 

Luckily, Valencia still had some of the childrens’ books she’d bought for Stiles. There were some in English and some in French, as well as some french learning books. She doubted he spoke it. Claudia’s French had never been very good and, to Valencia’s understanding, she’d never spoken it after her mother passed. 

She pulled the books out as something to get Maarah started on, and listened approvingly as she read out loud.  It was interesting to watch her learn. Val had assumed that she’d get frustrated, but she very rarely did. When she didn’t know what a word meant, she asked. Eventually, Val pulled out a dictionary for her and let her figure them out on her own. 

“Oh,” Ramaarah said at one point, and Valencia looked up in interest. “Appalled means something bad,” Maarah said, sounding disappointed. “I just thought it meant surprised, or excited. I’ve been using it wrong my whole life.” 

Valencia didn’t know what to say to that. “There are worse things,” she tried.

“People have thought I was stupid my whole life. Ladies in houses that I’ve worked for. They’ve thought I was dirty and stupid.” 

“And you think that if you’d known the definition of one more word, they’d have thought differently of you?” 

“Well, I wouldn’t be proving them right, would I?” 

“I think…” Valencia started, “there’s a lot we’d do differently, if we could go back. But we can’t. If I dwell too much on the past, I might work my way up to murdering you.” She smiled. It was an old joke between them: terrible, but familiar. 

“Wouldn’t work anyway,” Maara muttered, but she was smiling now. 

“Appalled is quite a word. Are you sounding things out that well so quickly?” 

“Yes. It isn’t hard now I know what I’m looking for.” 

And just like that, she was back on track, detailing how she’d seen some of these words before, obviously, and she knew the basics of reading them. Some of them, she’d just memorized what she knew them to say. Like bags of flour and sugar, or salt for cooking. Valencia smiled and told her that a good bit of reading was just slow memorization of things you’d sounded out before. 

They ate dinner in companionable conversation. Ramaarah thought she might want to read a mystery novel. Something with a puzzle to solve. 

“It’s good practice at hoity toity thinking,” she said, and Valencia laughed. 

“Will you be needing hoity toity thinking anytime soon?” 

“It never hurts to be prepared.” The older woman shrugged. 

In her boredom, Ramaarah had prepared a massive dinner, and a delicate dessert. They ate it slowly. It was probably too much for either of their constitutions, but some things were worth the stomach ache. 

Usually, after dinner, Valencia settled down with a book and turned on the evening news. It was mostly depressing, so she liked to have something else to do while she listened to it. That way, if it got too dire, she could just tune it out. 

Ramaarah was in the kitchen, tending to the dishes. They’d fought about all the housework Ramaarah did, extensively. “You are not a maid,” Valencia had told her, sternly. Maarah just grinned. “Technically, that’s exactly what I am.” 

She was insufferable, but cooking and cleaning made her feel like she was contributing something to the house. It wasn’t a hardship to eat her cooking, either. She was just better at it than Val. 

Distantly, Val heard her turn the water off and take a step away from the sink. 

“Val?” She called out, and the younger woman turned to look at her, pressing her finger and her place in the book to mark her page. 

“I’m just...I’m not feeling so…” 

Before she could finish, she collapsed, head knocking against the corner of the kitchen table, before hitting the floor. 

**2014**

“Maarah,” Valencia called from the kitchen, “it’s time to come and take your shot.” 

She heard Maarah shuffling around from her bedroom and decided that she’d give her a moment. She’d always been slower in the mornings, and she’d been slower still since the fall, and the diagnosis. 

Apparently, Ramaarah was a diabetic. The doctors said she probably had been for quite some time, but her previous diet was supporting it better. Valencia scoffed at this, as her previous diet had been whatever she could forage without people noticing. The evening with the table, her blood sugar had been too high, and she’d gotten woozy. 

The diabetes was easy to manage. They went back to eating leaner foods. Ramaarah had been enjoying actually eating the rich food she’d had to cook for previous clients, but she shrugged at the change. “Simple food can be good, too. I could probably make anything good, especially if we were still going to get me recipe books?” She asked it like it was a question. Valencia understood that it was because she hated assuming Val was going to spend money on her. But…Val was. Money made things easy. And both of their lives had been miserably hard, so having things be easy on occasion wasn’t anything to feel guilty about. 

When Maarah still hadn’t emerged from the room, Val picked up the tray with her breakfast and headed back towards her room. 

She found the older woman sitting on the edge of her bed, breathing heavily. 

“I’m sorry,” she panted, “I’m just...I’m just so woozy this morning.” 

Yes, the diabetes had been easily managed. The head injury was giving them a world of trouble. 

“It’s alright. Lie back down, you just need a bit more time. I can give you your shot laying down. We’ll prop you up for breakfast.” 

“I hate needles,” Maarah murmured as she re-positioned herself in the bed. 

“Yes, I know.” Valencia rolled her eyes, and then set to the work of administering the shot. 

“How come you don’t have any horrible diseases?” Maarah groused. 

“I do have the arthritis,” Valencia supplied, easing the needle into Maarah’s skin. 

“That doesn’t require daily shots.” 

“I have a cortisone shot that I can take if my hands get to bad and I want to garden. The thing is, Ramaarah, you’re a good deal older than me.” 

“I am  _ not _ !” The older woman cried. “I am two years older than you. Two measly years! I will not be made out like some skeleton over two years.” 

Valencia shrugged. “Who am I to argue what the medicine says?”  

“You are the worst kind of person.” Ramaarah pouts. 

Valencia leaves her in her room. She has a few books. She’s gotten much better at reading since she’s been bed bound. Sometimes, if she goes for too long, she gets a headache. Val bought her audiobooks for that exact purpose. She’ was working through the Harry Potter series now, though Val wasn’t sure exactly which one she was on. 

While Maarah rested, Valencia went out into the garden. She’d gotten it into her head to plant a apricot tree a year back, and it was just beginning to bear fruit. After harvesting some of it and bringing it into the kitchen, she realized there was entirely too much for she and Ramaarah to ever just eat. 

“Well, whatever will we do with it all?” 

As was her custom, she booted up the laptop and started researching what she could do with excess fruit. It wouldn’t all stay good for too long, so she had to act quickly. 

At some point in her research, Ramaarah made her way out of the bedroom. She made it to the couch and sat there for a moment, resting. 

“What are you up to now?” She asked, peering at Val over the back of the couch. 

“What if we made jam, or jelly? Or...preserves? I don’t know. I’m sure there's some difference between them, I just don’t know what it is.” 

“You want to make jam?” Ramaarah asked with an arched eyebrow. 

Valencia pointed to the overflowing basket of apricots she’d brought in. “What are we going to do with all those apricots? And you know I’ve ordered an apple tree, which should be here any day. What will we do with all the apples? And people make jams from peppers. I’ve just been letting peppers go bad for years because I wasn’t sure what to do with them. But people make pepper jams. And people make  _ apricot _ pepper jams.” 

“You, with your arthritis, and me, with my loopy head? You want us to make jam?” 

“Yes! We can order all the supplies, of course. There are machines that we can put the cans into, to tighten them, which completely goes around my arthritis. And you can help with the recipes! We’ll get you a high chair to sit in, in case you get tired at the stove. But, from what I”ve reading, it’s just a bunch of experimentation and stirring.” 

“Sounds riveting.” 

“Do you not want to?” 

Ramaarah looked at the kitchen. “I don’t know that I could, the way the kitchen is set up now. We’ve only got two eyes on the stove, which is fine for just you, but if we’re trying to make a hundred containers of jam, it could get a little crowded. You talk about a high chair, but where would we put it? If I set a chair in front of the stove as it stands right now, we’d be blocking the back door to the garden, and you wouldn’t be able to pull your chair out at the table.

There isn’t a lot of counter space for chopping, mostly I just do that at the table. The kitchen isn’t really...functional for projects.” 

Valencia considered this. “But if we had a functional kitchen, you’d want to?” 

“You cannot remodel your kitchen to make it easier for me to make jam, Valencia.” 

“First of all, of course I can. Secondly, this is the house where we will spend the rest of our lives, however long they may be. Why shouldn’t it be exactly what we want? Why shouldn’t it suit our needs? I’ve been thinking about it anyway. Your bedroom is too far from the kitchen now. And the bathroom. You don’t walk as well as you once did. There’s plenty of space there,” she pointed to behind the far living room wall. “We could easily put a bedroom there.” 

“And what would become of my bedroom now?” 

“I don’t know. We’d have to give you a bathroom as well, so that you won’t have to struggle to one in the middle of the night.” 

“How thoughtful.”

“Shut up.” Valencia said, smiling. 

She walked over to the small desk she kept and pulled out a notepad. “You don’t have arthritis. At least, not in your hands. Design us a kitchen that we can make jam in.” 

Ramaarah stared at the pad. “You’re ridiculous.” 

Valencia nodded solemnly. “Yes. Yes, I am.” 

\--

Valencia had never remodeled a home before. Neither had Ramaarah, obviously. They discovered together that it was easy to get….carried away. 

“We could both have en suites.” Valencia reasoned. 

“Seems lazy, to me.” 

“But if we’re already opening up the wall to give you a new bedroom, why not throw a bathroom in there, as well?” 

“Well, sure, it makes sense for  _ me _ . But why do  _ you _ need one?” 

“You’re awful and I hate you. En suites for everyone.” 

“What about a greenhouse?” 

“What?” 

“Well over the winter, it’ll be hard to grow anything outside, but they’re already taking the wall out to put an  _ en suite _ on your bedroom. We could expand a little to the east, and put on an attached greenhouse on the back of the kitchen.” 

“That might encroach on the property line. Let me call the bank.” 

“Wha--” Ramaarah started, but Valencia put her finger up, phone already pressed to her ear. At first she was clearly speaking to an automated system, keeping her responses short. When someone answered, she spoke quickly. 

“Yes, I’m interested in purchasing the parcel of land next to my home. Actually,” she frowned and glanced out the back door. “I’m interested in buying a few parcels of land surrounding my home.” 

“A  _ few _ ,” Ramaarah choked. She remembered, vaguely, that Val had said she was living off the scraps falling from her table of money. The metaphor had never made more sense than it did right now. 

“Okay. How long will that take?” A pause. “Well, I’m looking to remodel, and I’m interested in building on the parcels I’m requesting. So sooner is better than later.” Another pause. “No, I don’t need financing, this would be a cash sale.” A third pause. “Could you email that paperwork to me? I can scan it, and send it back?” A longer pause, during which Val frowned and shook her head. “No, that won’t do. Email it to me, I’ll get it notarized in town, and then scan it and send it back?” A definitive nod. “Perfect. How soon can you get it to me? It’s there now? Lord, I love technology. I’ll have it back to you by close of business. Wait, where are you?” A final pause. “Maybe tomorrow morning, then. It was a pleasure speaking with you.” 

She pressed a button on her screen, and then looked at Maarah again. “Alright, a greenhouse then.” 

“You can’t just  _ do _ that!” Ramaarah shouted. 

Valencia looked at her. “Do you not want the greenhouse?” 

“Valencia, you know that I’m not comfortable with the way you spend money.” 

“Ramaarah, you’re aware that it’s my money and I’ll spend it however I please.” 

“Must you be so difficult about this?! It’s excessive for you to just...buy things because we might possibly want them.” 

“I have said this before, and I thought you understood. Apparently you didn’t, so we’ll try it again. I will either live forever, or I will die in this house. Either way, I cannot see a single reason why it shouldn’t be exactly what I want it to be. The parcels of land around me were always for sale. When it was just me, I didn’t see any reason to buy them. I wasn’t planning any big remodeling projects then. I was younger. However, now that I’m older, and I’m not moving around as much, I want a bathroom closer to my bed. I want to be able to garden without going out into the cold in the winter. I want that, and damnit, I will have it. What is all this money good for if I don’t spend it? Who am I leaving it for? My children are dead. My grandchildren are dead. My great grandchild may not even know who I am. What am I saving it for, Ramaarah?” 

She was crying now, and Maarah felt like a clod. 

“This is my fault. The fact that you’re living this way is my fault. So how can I accept your charity?” 

“You’ll accept it because I damn well asked you to!” The younger woman shouted. She’d never yelled before. Even on their first meeting, when she’d hit her with a cane, she’d never yelled. 

Ramaarah nodded. 

**2015**

Waking up was different now. 

All of her life, Ramaarah had slept on the ground. Sometimes it was in tents, the ground layered with quilts and miscellaneous pillows. That was nice, some of her best memories were there. Sometimes it was outside, the stars above her and the bitter cold all around. Sometimes in the store rooms of shops she worked at, or on the kitchen floor of houses. She’d curl up right in front of the fire, half sleeping and half stoking to keep herself warm. 

Never in her  _ entire life _ had she slept in a bed, until she moved in with Valencia. The bed she’d bought for her great grandson had been nice. A little soft after a life of sleeping on firmer things, the room had obviously been for a young boy, but Ramaarah had never had a room. Anything was better than what she’d come from.

But  _ this _ . 

She stretched a little in bed. Wiggled her fingers and toes. She couldn’t do the full body stretches she did when she was younger, anymore. It took her limbs a little longer to catch up. So she started them slowly, with her eyes still closed, loving that she could sense the sunlight filling her room. 

Val had let her design it. She’d known exactly what she wanted. All her life, her surroundings had been brown, and green, and gray. When she thought of comfort and opulence, she thought of white, and gold, and pink. 

Her room was larger now, her bed made of memory foam. It was much firmer than the old mattress and Ramaarah loved it. Her blankets and throws were a combination of white and pale pink, with pretty gold accents. Her bedside lamp was gold with a pink shade. She had a small settee at the end of her bed, where she placed all her scatter pillows before she went to sleep. The thought of it filled her with...something. She couldn’t say happiness, because it felt so much bigger than that. A life of sleeping on the ground, and now she had so many pillows that she had to take some off the bed before she could sleep on it. 

The main walkway floors were hardwood, but her bedroom was thickly carpeted, so that her feet didn’t get cold as she was trodding around in the morning. 

She’d always been an early riser, couldn’t stay asleep too far past the sunrise. She also got tired almost immediately after dinner, and fell asleep by eight most nights. 

Valencia was the exact opposite. After dinner was when she came alive. She always wanted to do the bookkeeping then, or balance the checkbooks, or read something, or write something, or send some manner of correspondence, or lookup what flowering trees she could plant in the garden. It was a miracle the woman ever slept at all. And when she did, she passed out and ungodly hours, and then drug herself into the kitchen in the morning looking like the sun itself had offended her. 

It was nice, though. It meant the house was quiet in the morning. Ramaarah could do her stretches without anyone around to see her wince. She could practice her reading at the brand new kitchen island, without anyone around to hear her stumble through words. Most importantly, though, she could cook breakfast. Whatever she wanted, Valencia had proven not to be a picky eater. Some years ago, she’d stopped going into town for the shopping at all. She just gave Ramaarah the money and sent her off on her own. 

As she learned to read more, she devoured cookbooks, learning new recipes at a rapid rate. She learned she greatly enjoyed Mexican food. Spicy food, in general, made her happy, as the traditional French fair she’d been cooking didn’t offer much in the way of spice. 

Sometimes, if the breakfast she’d chosen that day was simple, she’d sit down in front of the television. Valencia had shown her that there was a whole channel about cooking, where nothing blew up at all. She’d sit in front of the television with her breakfast, in her pajamas, and watch a woman they called “The Barefoot Contessa” cook amazing meals with ease. Val was making noises about getting some sort of recorder, so that Maarah could record the shows to watch later. She had tried taking notes, but her hands ached, and it didn’t work very well. They’d discussed getting a TV specifically for the kitchen, but you could see the living room TV from the kitchen, and Ramaarah maintained it was silly to buy another one. 

Valencia gave her a narrow eyed stare, but eventually agreed. 

They hadn’t quite come to terms on the issue of money, they’d just stopped talking about it. As much as Ramaarah was enjoying her new life, she understood that she didn’t deserve it. She’d done something terrible, she’d destroyed a person. Several people had  _ died _ , due to her foolishness, and her haste. When she looked at herself in the mirror every morning, she acknowledged that she was a murderer, and the she deserved whatever punishment life had in store for her. 

Yet, it seemed life had no punishments at all. The one person in the world who deserved to make her life a living hell seemed committed to making all of her dreams come true. Ramaarah thinks her mother would consider this the most fitting punishment of all. She was doomed to realize, more and more every day, that she had cursed a  _ good  _ person. A good, kind person who would’ve loved her husband and her family and been a doting grandmother, and great grandmother. Maarah had robbed her of that. She thought, maybe, that the longer they knew each other, the meaner Val would get. That eventually she’d see through to the soul of a person who’d deserved what they’d gotten. But days had turned to weeks and months and years before Ramaarah noticed, and the only time Valencia ever got angry, was when they talked about money. 

It was such a small request: Let her spend her money the way she wanted to. Even if that meant spending money on Ramaarah. It was the only thing Val had ever asked. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being compensated for ruining someone’s life. It was driving her mad. 

So she cooked, and she cleaned. She tended the garden when Valencia’s arthritis was bothering her and she did the shopping. She went into town to fetch the mail, and picked up the ointments and salves Val used for her pain. It was what she was good at, cleaning up after people and taking care of them. And if anyone deserved to be taken care of, it was Valencia Baptiste. 

“What’s for breakfast?” The woman herself appeared in the hallway, feet tucked into fuzzy slippers. Her doctor, who she saw regularly, had told her to quit coffee, and she was furious about it. 

“I’ve made french toast and eggs. There’s turkey bacon there.” 

Valencia scrunched up her nose in distaste. “Turkey bacon?"

Ramaarah shrugged. “We had some leftover from that recipe? I’d wanted to get rid of it before we buy more. It’s good, I promise.” 

Valencia waved at her, fixing her plate quietly. The electric kettle is beginning to bubble quietly on the counter. The volume on the television is low. Val plops down on the couch, her plate made, and begins to eat. She takes about three bites before the electric kettle beeps. 

“I’ll get it,” Ramaarah murmurs, pushing up off the couch before Val can argue. She’s done with her breakfast anyway. Might as well get the plate cleaned up and in the dishwasher. At this point, she knew how Valencia took her tea as well as she knew how she took her own. 

“Thank you,” Valencia said, when she handed her the cup. 

“Of course.” Ramaarah replied. The cooking show had changed, some irritating woman with red hair was explaining how she fed entirely too many children. 

“Would you like to start on some jam today? We have more than enough fruit.” Val continued, her voice still scratchy with sleep. 

“Did the pectin come in?” Ramaarah asked. They’d been waiting on it for weeks now. 

Val nodded. “Yesterday. It got placed with some of the other packages in the study, so I didn’t see it at first.” 

The room Ramaarah had stayed in when she’d first gotten here, Stiles’ room, had been converted into an office/study for Valencia. The contractor had suggested just leaving it there as a guest room, and couldn’t understand why the two women had laughed so hard. 

“Guests!” Valencia cried, and started them into a fit of giggles all over again. 

They were sad about it for days after that. No. They’d never have guests. 

So they’d taken the bed out, donated it to charity, and placed an antique desk in the room. Now, it was a quiet place for Valencia to manage the finances. It was something she said she’d missed from her larger homes. Especially now that Ramaarah was cooking in the kitchen. It was sometimes noisy at the table while Val tried to work. She had a strange policy about not taking work into her bedroom. 

“No. My checkbooks has never gone into my bedroom. I don’t think about money in bed. My father taught me that, and he lived a happy life that way. If I’m to live forever, I’ll not worry myself unnecessarily now.” 

Ramaarah had never had any such training. She’d never worried about money because she’d never had any. The way Valencia made it sound, having money, even if she didn’t use all that much of it, was a massive responsibility. 

“I’ve always managed it myself,” she said, “ever since Jean Paul passed.” 

“Were you worried that if you hired someone, they would die?” Ramaarah asked. 

To her surprise, Valencia laughed. “No, I worried if I hired someone they would rob me. Believe it or not, I am very concerned about financing this whole business of living forever.  Especially now that there’s two of us.” 

This led to another spirited argument in which Ramaarah reminded Val to stop spending so much money on her and Val told Ramaarah she could kindly shove it. 

They’d come to a bit of a compromise though, on the jam. 

“You’ve already bought all the supplies for us to make it. Let me sell it at market. Just the extra. We have too much fruit, and we’ve only planted more. We’ll have too much jam. We can save a lot of it, of course, but there’ll still be too much. Let me help bring some money in.” 

Valencia had considered this for a while, but eventually conceded. 

But then Maarah had gotten a terrible bout of cold, and hadn’t been allowed in the kitchen for a while. She was fully recovered, but they realized they didn’t actually have the pectin to make jam. Now it had arrived and everything was in place. 

“Let’s get started, then.” She smiled. 

\--

The jam was a hit. 

She’s taken the apricot habanero and a sweet apricot jam into town, and offered samples with bread and crackers. Everyone had loved it immediately, and were thrilled to sell it in stores. Valencia negotiated the terms of the deal, and before they knew it, they were seeing the fruits of their labor. 

“Ginny down at the store says we’ve made enough that we don’t need to pay for the groceries next time we come in.” Remaarah told Valencia excitedly. The younger woman peered over the rim of her glasses. 

“We still need receipts. I want to know exactly how much money she’s made on us. We don’t spend that much at the grocery store. It’s possible she’s made double that, so offering us free groceries is no skin off her back.” 

Ramaarah hadn’t thought about it that way, she’d been too excited about free groceries. She took her job as Valencia’s personal representative seriously, though, and so she marched back to the grocery store and asked Ginny exactly how many cans had sold. 

Lo and behold, Ginny had sold enough cans of jam that, after her cut, she could’ve financed their monthly grocery run four times over. 

“We take cash or check,” Valencia said, smugly, when Ramaarah reported this to her over the phone. 

The  _ phone _ , which Ramaarah hated, even though she understood it’s use. She was often in town having business discussions she knew nothing about. They’d discussed her possibly traveling further away, if necessary, to sell to stores in other towns. Maybe even Toulouse. 

Ramaarah was comfortable with travel and familiar with most of France, she wasn’t worried about being away from this place she considered home. Valencia would insist on sending her with money, and booking hotel rooms on her way so that she wouldn’t have to sleep outside, which is what she was accustomed to on long journeys. She said she wanted to keep Maarah clean and presentable for her presentations, which made sense. 

“Also, I’d like for you not to get robbed.” Valencia threw in, and Ramaarah hadn’t thought of that either. She’d never travelled with enough money that being robbed was a real possibility. She’d been roughed up a few times, but never robbed. Not of money, anyway. 

The phone, however, was so that if she ended up in a sticky conversation that she couldn’t navigate her way out of, she had some option for calling Val. 

She would travel light. Only taking two cans of each of their four jams out with her. “If they like it, how will they get more?” Maarah asked. “We’ll have to ship it,” Val replied, furrow forming between her brows. “I’ll have to look up how much we should send at a time.” 

In the meantime, Ramaarah was off, on a train, a compartment all to herself, seeing France in a way she’d never seen it before. She had to admit, she was more excited than she’d ever been. 

Life was good. 

**2016**

“You’re old, Maarah,” Valencia said, apropos of nothing, one day when they were working in the greenhouse. 

Ramaarah snorted. “That’s rude. Shouldn’t someone with your breeding know better?” 

Val shrugged and carried on. “You can’t keep traipsing about the country on a train. You need to be home more.” 

“Well, that’s how the jam gets sold, Maarah. We can’t just not sell it.” 

“First of all, yes we can. We could stop selling jam today and still be fine. However,” she said, before Ramaarah could protest, “that’s not what I’m suggesting. I’m suggesting that we sell it on the internet.” 

“The  _ computer _ ?” Ramaarah sneered. It had been years. Ramaarah could read and write now. She spoke passable English, though she wasn’t very comfortable reading it just yet. She still, however, hated anything having to do with the internet. 

“Yes, Maarah. The computer. Why do you hate it so much?” 

“It’s a small screen with small words and there’s always people talking and I never know where any of the people are. It makes me nervous.” She said. “How would you even begin to sell a thing on the computer?” 

“Well there’s a website. It’s called Etsy. And all we’d have to do, it seems, is take pictures of the jam, describe it, and if people like it, they’ll buy it.” 

“Why would you buy food through a computer without ever tasting it?” 

“We’ve bought food over the phone without ever tasting it. We get food delivered here all the time.” 

They did. As time went by, Ramaarah was having trouble standing for extended periods, which meant she cooked less. Both of them were loath to go back to Valencia’s cooking, passable as it was. The small town had modernized a bit since Val moved to it, and now the pizza parlor in the square would send a courier all the way out to her house. They’d even paved a road through the Rosemary field. Val had gotten a special permit a year ago to remove some trees and make a driveway through the forest. She hadn’t paved it, though. She said it felt disrespectful. 

“We know what pizza tastes like.” 

“They know what jam tastes like.” 

“But ours is  _ better _ .”

“Exactly! If they’re already buying subpar jam through the internet, why shouldn’t they be buying  _ our _ jam through the internet?” 

“Well when you put it that way…” 

Valencia grinned. She’d won and she knew it. Anyone could see that Ramaarah was tired, she ached more often, was more sensitive to the cold. At first, she’d loved going out and giving samples of the product. She’d loved the trains and the luxury, she’d loved meeting people wearing her fine clothes. 

Now, though, she was exhausted more often than not. She slept through the train rides and woke up with aches. She was snippy and tired during presentations. The jam was still selling, but Valencia had determined the price was too high. It was very possible that they would live forever, but they were still aging. They had to take care of their bodies. Val was plagued with worries of how bad it could get. She could afford to bring in medical professionals to helps them, but she had no reason to believe they wouldn’t just die. 

“You’re frowning.” 

“I’m worried,” Valencia admitted. 

“About what?” 

“About us. We’re not in good health, Maarah. What if we need doctors? Nurses? We can’t have anyone come into the house, we can’t get checked into hospital. What will we do? What will we do when our bodies have failed us and we still can’t die?” 

“What if…” Ramaarah started, then stopped. 

“What?” 

“You said that my Jacob, he was a werewolf. You said that his family was keeping your great grandson safe. How did they do that?” 

“I don’t know, Claudia never told me.” 

“But they were able to, right? Something about them being...supernatural, I guess, helped them go around the curse.” 

Valencia nodded. “Yes, that seems to be what happened.” 

“So, then, if we could find some supernatural creatures, is it possible that they would be resistant to it as well?” 

“There’s no way of knowing. I’ve never met a supernatural creature before. I wouldn’t know where to meet one.” 

“...I think I might.” 

\--

Ramaarah knew things about the world that Valencia didn’t. She knew about the seedy places, the dark alleys and the hidden camps in the woods. How sometimes places looked like they did one thing, but actually did another. Like the shop they found themselves in front of. 

“I shouldn’t be here,” Valencia whispered harshly. 

“If we’re wrong, we’ll only need to be here once. No one will die for having met you once. You can be mean like you are to all the shop people.” 

“I’m not  _ mean _ !” Val cried, but Ramaarah was already walking into the shop. 

Valencia hated it immediately. The air was heavy and close, and smelled like too many scented candles were lit at once. 

The woman at the counter was old. Younger than Val and Ramaarah, by probably twenty years, but still older than Val expected. 

“How can I help you?” She said with a smile. The smell was starting to make Val feel nauseated, so she didn’t speak. 

“We come seeking guidance,” Ramaarah said, her voice strangely formal. 

The woman nodded and disappeared into a back room.

“How’d you know to say that?” 

“I heard Emory say it once, to a woman in a shop like this. Not this shop, but one like it. She disappeared just like that, and then invited him back. He wouldn’t let me come, gave me some money to go buy food.” 

“You think Emory was….”

  
Ramaarah shrugged. “Jacob was. He had to get it from somewhere.” 

The woman reappeared. “I am Adele, I welcome you into my shop. Would you like to come back and take rest?” 

They nodded and were led to the back room. They settled on a comfortable couch, while Adele prepared tea. Once they were served, she sat in a chair, separated from them by an old oak coffee table. “What manner of guidance do you seek?” 

Ramaarah cleared her throat. “We are cursed.” 

Adele immediately shook her head. “No. She,” she inclined her head towards Valencia, “is cursed. You are bound. They aren’t the same. You do her a disservice by pretending they are.” 

“What’s the difference,” Maarah snapped. 

Adele laughed. “The difference is that whatever the curse is, it affects this woman directly. If she’s been cursed to have everything she eats taste like ash for the rest of her life, that only affects her.  _ You _ just have to stay alive until your curse has run its course. That’s not a curse. Originally, mages used to enjoy staying alive to watch the havoc they wreaked on others. And if it wasn’t something they enjoyed, the generally didn’t curse their enemies to long life. Who taught you to use magic?” 

“I was never taught,” Maarah muttered. “I knew it existed because I’d seen my mother use it. I cursed Val in a fit of anger. I didn’t realize I’d done it until years later, didn’t realize it was real. The window to reverse it had closed, by the time we figured it out. My mother was furious. She stripped me of any magic I might’ve had. She didn’t see a point in teaching me anything after that.” 

Val gaped at her. She hadn’t known any of that. 

Adele shook her head. “What was the curse?” 

Ramaarah repeated it to her slowly. Adele almost bobbled her tea in shock. 

“You’ve cursed her to live forever if someone from her bloodline doesn’t complete an impossible task? And  _ bound _ yourself to it?!” 

“Yes.” 

Adele turned to Valencia. “Did you try to kill her?”

“When it happened, or recently?” Valencia replied. She was exhausted, and she had a feeling this conversation was going to get worse before it got better.

“How long ago were you cursed?” 

“Seventy years ago or so, now.” Val responded. 

Adele’s mouth was open. She closed it, but it always seemed to open again. Eventually, she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and attempted to pull herself together. 

“What on earth guidance could you possibly be seeking from me?” 

“I’m getting old,” Valencia spoke up. “I can’t die, but everyone around me can. I need to hire a nurse to help me, but I’m afraid to. I was, we were wondering if you thought supernatural creatures might be immune to the curse. And, if they are, we were hoping you could help us locate some.” 

“There are certain supernatural creatures that are more likely to be immune to your curse. Werewolves, phoenixes, and vampires come to mind. Vampires are out, though. They’re a very insular community and they wouldn’t be willing to work with you. Phoenixes are rare, and incredibly hard to find. Your best bet would be werewolves. ‘Wolves have a special talent for blending in with society at large. In general, you can find a werewolf in any field you need one in. I can put you in touch with a local pack, if you’re interested.” 

Valencia nodded, relieved. 

Adele scribbled some information on a piece of paper, and handed across the table to her. 

“Mages are mostly human. Just with a little extra push. We are not immune to curses such as the one you’re describing. I’m very sorry for the state of your life, and I wish I could do more to help you, but I won’t risk myself,” she said. “Please don’t contact me again.” 

Ramaarah looked ready to throw a fit, but Valencia just nodded and stood. “I appreciate your help.” 

Adele smiled sadly at her. 

They left the shop in silence. 

\-- 

**2017**

“Sherry,” Valencia murmured. Her werewolf nurses was helping her walk to the bathroom. For all Ramaarah had complained about en suites, they were coming in handy now. 

“Yes, ma’am?” Sherry replied, and Valencia opened her mouth to say that she didn’t need to do that, but gave up the fight. They had the conversation almost every day, and the next day, Sherry was right back at it. 

“Do you know any attorneys? Someone who might be able to help me get my affairs in order?” 

The young woman frowned. “Not off the top of my head, ma’am, but I can ask around if you’d like. I imagine you’re looking for someone...like us?” She said, delicately. 

Val nodded. 

Sherry hummed in concentration. “Alright, I can definitely ask.” 

Two days later, there was a young man at her door. He was quick and professional. Sherry told her that he wasn’t a werewolf, but she wasn’t entirely sure what he was. Val made sure the curse was properly explained to him, and he assured her it wouldn’t be a problem. 

Her body was failing, but her mind was still sharp. She didn’t know how long that would last, didn’t know if one day she’d be beyond speech or comprehension, but still alive. 

She already had a trust fund set up for Stiles, but she made sure that he, or any children he may have, would be taken care of as well. A blood test was a requirement for inheritance, as she’d never met Stiles, and would probably never meet any of his children. 

The managing partner of the law firm came down to visit her. He assured her that he would find her family, even if it was her great great great grandchildren, that he would find them, and he would see this thing done. The wording was very formal, and Valencia accepted it kindly. 

Sherry split her days between the two of them, Ramaarah preferring to putter around in the kitchen and perfect jam recipes, while Val stayed in her office with the books. 

In the evening, they ate a simple dinner of chicken and rice and green vegetables, chatting as they watched the news. 

“Val,” Ramaarah said quietly, the younger woman turned to her. “This isn’t a bad life, we’ve made here.” 

Val smiled. “No, Maarah, it isn’t.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Okay, so I wrote myself into a bit of a corner in the next chapter and I didn't notice until I went to reread it right before posting. Cleaning that up might take a day or two, it's busy season at my job so I can't write as much as I could before. I might just have to give you guys three chapters this coming weekend, but I'm _hoping_ it won't take that long. 
> 
> You guys are, and continue to be, the freaking best. 
> 
> XO


	16. Ch 8: The War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things:  
> 1) I'm terrible at action  
> 2) Heed the tags, which I've updated  
> 3) buckle up kids, here we go.

Laura: 

There’s an ornate analog clock hanging in Lydia’s dining room. Last night, the tickticktick of it, layered with the sounds of Shane and Lydia’s heartbeats had been soothing. She’d felt cocooned in good sounds, good smells. With her nose tucked into Lydia’s hair, she’d slept peacefully. 

Tonight was different. 

Shane stayed the night at Danny’s with Abby, which was probably the best werewolf training he could get, all things considered. But Laura couldn’t deny there was something special to her wolf about the sound and scent of safe, sleepy packmembers. 

Lydia was not sleepy. Her heart was beating double time against the tickticktick of that pretty analog clock and her scent had gone acrid with too much caffeine. She was muttering to herself, and Laura could hear the rustle of paper that said she was working. 

The clock ticked. Eleven forty five. They really didn’t have time for this. 

Sighing, Laura pushed herself up from the couch and headed down the hallway. Lydia’s door wasn’t closed all the way, and Laura pushed it open just enough to lean against the jamb. 

There was paper spread out all over Lydia’s bed, her laptop perched, open, on her nightstand Her eyes flitted back and forth between the screen and her paperwork, occasionally typing something on the screen. 

“Can I help you?” She asked, without looking up. 

“It’s getting late. You should try and rest.” Laura said. 

“I’m fine,” Lydia hummed at her, heart tripping over the lie. 

“You’re not fine. I can hear your heartbeat. I can  _ smell _ the drugs you took to keep yourself awake. Tomorrow’s going to be a tough day. You don’t need the added handicap of having no sleep.” 

She had Lydia’s full attention now. 

“Tomorrow’s going to be tough? Tough?” She barked out a laugh with no humor. “I took caffeine pills so that I wouldn’t sleep tonight, because I can’t have the dreams tonight. I cannot dream that you die the night before you die. Laura. I don’t give a shit what that means for tomorrow because tomorrow is already the worst day of my fucking life and it hasn’t even happened yet. Do you know what I’m doing? I’m filling out leave paperwork. And doing lesson plans for the next month or so, because after tomorrow I am going to be…” 

She took a shuddering breath. For a moment, Laura thought she might cry, but her next breath was steady. Shaking her head, she went back to looking over paperwork and not looking at Laura. 

“What am I supposed to do here, Red?” 

“Nothing. There’s nothing you can do. I can’t ask you to not die, so there’s nothing you can do.” Her heart tripped.

“Lydia” Laura growled. “What do you want?” 

“I don’t know! I know that I shouldn’t, okay, I get that. But if this is it? If this is the last night I’ll ever have with you I want...everything. I want everything. Even if it hurts later. Even if I can’t stand it. I don’t want this to be over without...knowing. God that’s so stupid!” She yelled, shoving shaking hands through her hair. 

Laura blinked. 

She took a slow step into the room, sitting down on the very edge of the bed, careful not to disturb any of the papers there.

“How about I lay in here with you, and we just...talk, for a little bit. We don’t really know each other that well, you and I. We can start fixing that?” 

Lydia huffed, but nodded, and started clearing paper off of the bed. Laura watched as she stacked it into three neat piles, laying them out on the nightstand behind her laptop. 

When a space was clear, Laura shimmied up the bed and under the covers. She tried not to shudder at the pure scent of Lydia that wafted up around her, but she couldn’t quite hold in the satisfied rumble. Everything should always smell like this, she thought, burrowing further into the blankets and closing her eyes. 

“Are we talking, or are you going to sleep?” Lydia asked, but there was a smirk in her voice, and amusement in her scent, so Laura just burrowed in a little firmer and hummed at her. 

There was a sigh as Lydia settled herself into bed as well. There was a moment of hesitation before she clicked off the light, plunging the room into a soft darkness. The street light shining outside of Lydia’s bedroom window kept it from being completely dark, but the atmosphere of the room had changed. It was something quiet now, something that felt safe. 

Laura and Lydia were not touching in the bed. Lydia was stiff and as close to the nightstand as she could get, her hair bunched up beneath her shoulders, like she was afraid of what would happen if even a strand of it touched Laura. 

The Alpha was trying to pretend she couldn't smell Jackson in the bed. The sheets had been changed, but he was sunk in there, into the mattress. She wanted to burn it. There was so much sex and joy and contentment in this bed, and none of it had anything to do with her. It was making her insane. 

The awkwardness and anxiety grew thick in the room until Laura wanted to whine from it. 

“This was your idea,” Lydia blurted, suddenly. “Start  _ talking _ , Jesus. I can’t--” 

Laura did whine now. Her instincts took over and she moved, slow enough to be rebuffed, into Lydia’s space. She wrapped an arm around the redhead’s waist, and tucked her nose up into Lydia’s neck, and felt her relax in the embrace. 

“‘M sorry. I’ve never had to...That’s a thing you should know about me, probably. I’ve never really done like,  _ relationships _ before. I dated in high school, of course, but that was kid stuff. I lost my virginity the summer before college, but that was with another Were, and it was...hormonal. Reckless, I guess. We wanted each other, we could smell it, so we did it. I had a crush on a girl in college, and I was working myself up to doing something about it when I came home for break. And then...the fire. I’ve fucked people since then, plenty of people, but no time for real relationships. So...I’m bad at this. Is my point.” 

Lydia snorted. “I’m not much better. I’ve known Jackson since kindergarten. As we got older...he was athletic and popular and I was pretty and popular and it just...made sense. It was always, God, even when we were kids, it was always more of a business arrangement than a love thing. We both had images to uphold, ambitions to achieve, and we helped each other do that. But the pack, the pack changed that for me. With Jackson, it was about being the best. About pushing to be better and better and better. Scott? Scott has never asked me to be anything other than myself. Nothing less, and nothing more. The pack made me think about how to be  _ happy _ , instead of just how to be better than. So, just the one relationship. Some flings, when Jackson and I were off instead of on, but mostly just Jackson. And that... _ just _ ended. It feels like it’s been ages but it’s been three days. Jackson and I broke up three days ago.” 

Laura sighed. “You’re not ready.” 

“No. I’m not. It’s not even  _ possible _ that I am. But...every time I look at you it’s like something falling into place. It’s like my whole life, I’ve been trying to force the wrong key into a lock, and I’ve finally gotten the right one. And that’s  _ terrifying. _ But I still want it. Maybe I’m not ready for it, but I want it. And that doesn’t make any sense.” 

Laura pressed a small kiss into Lydia’s neck, and was rewarded with a shudder. “You’re my mate,” she whispered into Lydia’s skin. Like it was a secret. “I think it makes perfect sense. You feel it like I do. And I never thought...I never thought someone who wasn’t a wolf would feel it that way. Like something has just been missing, this whole time. And it was you. It was the sound of your heartbeat, the scent of you. And now the world is on kilter. I feel clear, and focused, and like I can take on anything, because I can hear your heart beating.” 

Lydia exhaled shakily. 

“There’s nothing I want more than to be able to take my time with you, Red. I want to know your coffee order, and your favorite movie. I want to know what flowers to surprise you with just because. I would’ve wooed you, if we had time. I would’ve courted you properly, the way I was raised to. And you wouldn’t have any doubts about me. You’d be so ready for us. I wish I could give you that, that peace of mind.” 

The hand in her hair tightened in her hair as Lydia tilted her face up so that they were looking at each other. 

“I don’t have any doubts about you, Laura.” 

She pressed their lips together in a kiss that was supposed to be chaste. Laura didn’t know what came over her. The second Lydia’s mouth was on hers, she needed more. She needed to taste. She surged up, licking at the seam of Lydia’s lips, sighing when she opened them. 

Lydia’s other hand came up to wrap around her neck. Arousal was starting to roll off of her - sweet and thick as honey, and Laura wanted to chase it. 

She shifted so that she was above Lydia, their bodies aligned. Heat sparked up everywhere their skin touched, but she didn’t want to stop touching. Didn’t want to stop tasting. Their legs were tangled together, cores pressed against each other and Laura wanted to  _ grind _ , wanted to press her leg up against where Lydia was hot and wet and ready and--

Lydia moaned into her mouth and Laura came back to herself. 

She broke away, breathing heavily. 

“Too fast?” She panted. 

“Not fast enough,” Lydia replied, arching against the Alpha. Laura hissed in response, leaning down to bite a bruise into Lydia’s neck. 

“Is it,” Lydia stuttered, “is it too fast for you?” 

This prompted a growl from Laura. “I’ve wanted you since I first smelled you.” 

Lydia smirked. “Prove it.” 

Laura felt the red bleed into her eyes. She sucked hard at the mark she’d made on Lydia’s throat, reveling in the way the blood rushed up to the skin. 

The modest scoop neckline of Lydia’s nightshirt was impeding her progress. 

“Off,” she growled, sitting up and pulling Lydia with her, so that she could pull the shirt over her head. 

Naked Lydia was a revelation. A study of pale skin and softness. Her nipples were a lovely shade of rose, as they hardened up in the cold air of the bedroom. All Laura could do was stare at her. This was a woman who was armored, always. Lydia Martin’s defenses were not only high, they were formidable. To have her here, breasts bared and chest heaving, felt like something Laura would spend the rest of her life (even if it was only the next twelve hours) earning. 

“Are you just going to stare at me?” Lydia panted, and Laura just looked at her. 

“Maybe?” She answered, a little lost in the face of the beauty in front of her. 

Lydia chuckled, but a glint came to her eye. She grabbed Laura by the back of her neck and rolled them so that she was on top. 

“I’ve been thinking about this,” she whispered, kissing the corner of Laura’s mouth, then down to her neck, biting against her collarbone. Laura let out a strangled moan. 

Lydia hummed in pleasure as she started working on the buttons of Laura’s tattered old nightshirt. Laura’s hands came up to tangle in her hair, but Lydia removed them, pressed her wrists down into the bed on either signed of her head and grinned at her. “No,” she murmured, pressing firmly, “like this.” 

She went back to kissing a trail down Laura’s chest, hands looser, but still pressing Laura’s wrists into the bed and it was driving the Alpha mad. No one had ever,  _ ever _ treated her this way in bed before. Even when she’d had men, they’d all let her take what she wanted, laid back and let her have her way with them without much complaint. But this? This was consumption. 

The thick flannel of the nightshirt scraped against her pierced nipple as Lydia moved it to the side and Laura moaned, louder than she planned to. 

“That’s something to remember,” Lydia murmured into her skin, flicking the piercing with her tongue.

“Don’t...oh my God,” Laura moaned, head falling back. 

Lydia laughed a little as she switched sides. “Why didn’t you pierce this one?” She asked as she descended on it. 

“Thought it was cool,” Laura choked out. Her panties were ruined, wet and clinging deliciously to her cunt. 

Lydia cupped her there, through her pajama pants, making Laura writhe against her. 

“I want to taste you here. Is that alright?” 

Laura nodded. She felt stupid with it, completely helpless as Lydia pulled the pants down over her hips. She’d never thought it would be like this, the first time she was with her mate. Alphas were supposed to be dominant, wringing orgasm after orgasm out of their willing mates. 

She felt Lydia’s breath against her and she shifted, felt her fangs drop. “Please,” she whined, words slurred behind her teeth. 

“Mmm, I think I like that. Ask me again, Alpha.” 

Laura hooked her leg over Lydia’s shoulder. “Please, Lydia, fuck,” she begged.

“Good girl,” Lydia smiles before pressing her tongue to where Laura was burning, sliding a finger in at the same time. 

Laura whited out with pleasure, clenching and convulsing against the finger inside of her. 

Lydia just worked her through it, kissing at her stomach and inner thighs and rocking that finger, steady like the swing of a pendulum, in and in and in. 

When she stopped clenching, was just a shivering mess of instinct and wanting more, Lydia slid in a second finger. 

“Can I have another one?” Lydia asked, sugar sweet, nipping at her earlobe. 

“Lydia,” Laura moaned. 

“I think you can,” the redhead murmured. She curled her fingers just so, pressing on a spot inside that lit Laura up. She cried out as she arched into it. 

Everything faded away, except for the smell of Lydia, her busy mouth on Laura’s skin, her fingers unerringly pressing and sliding against that spot inside her. All of her instincts told her this was right, that her job as an alpha mate was to give. If this was what Lydia wanted, she would give and give until she couldn’t anymore. 

She was dimly aware of Lydia straddling her thigh, grinding against her. 

“Oh God,” she choked. “I’m gonna…” 

“Not yet,” Lydia panted into her mouth, ducking in for a kiss. “Just a little longer.” 

Laura kisses back sloppily, breathing heavy around her fangs. “I’m, it’s…” but she didn’t know what she was saying. The orgasm building up inside of her was terrifying in its intensity. 

“Lydia,” she whined. 

“Almost. So close, baby, we’re so close.” She sighed, rocking desperately against Laura’s thigh. 

It was only a moment later than Lydia shuddered against her. The room filling with the scent of her come and satisfaction. Despite her best efforts, Laura was starting to clench down on Lydia’s fingers, so close to coming, she didn’t know that she could stop it. 

Lydia presses a finger into her mouth, and all the sudden she was tasting Lydia’s essence. She sucked on the fingers without thought, hungry for it. 

“Come, baby,” Lydia whispered, and she was helpless against it, coming with a whine.

Everything gets hazy after that. She’s just floating for a while, her body wrung out from the sex, her brain overloaded from the satisfaction of being so close to a satisfied mate. It was the first time in a month maybe, that she hadn’t been thinking about the next moment, the next move. It was just her and Lydia, and all the places their skin touched. She rolled to her side and Lydia curled up behind her, hair spilling over Laura’s shoulder. 

“Are you alright?” She asked into the darkness. 

“Mmm” Laura hummed in response. She felt more than heard Lydia’s laugh into her skin.

“I’m going to get you some water, I’ll be right back.” 

“No?” Laura tried, not wanting the warm bubble to burst. 

“Yes, baby. Two minutes. If that. I’ll be back.” 

She moved quickly, tucking Laura in. It seemed silly but she felt better, like she was safe in a cocoon. 

Before she could fully ponder the wonders of being tucked in, Lydia was back. She knelt against the side of the bed with a glass of water. 

“Drink,” she murmured, and Laura did without complaint. The water was cool in her mouth, making her feel less floaty and more grounded in the moment. 

“Come back to bed?” She asked, and Lydia nodded. “When you finish.” 

Lydia coached her through the cup of water, then a banana that appeared out of nowhere, before climbing in bed behind her. Laura’s last waking thought was that she could never give this up.

Shane:

There was something heavy on top of his legs, trapping him. Shane awoke with a growl. He knew his eyes were flashing, knew his claws were out.

The room wasn’t light yet, though you could see the shadow of it creeping up through the windows. He had to breathe through his nose to focus, remind himself to trust his new eyes. It took him a moment to find it, that way, the pale golden wolf curled up at the foot of his  bed.

“Isaac?” He murmured sleepily, rubbing at his eyes. The wolf opened one eye, leveled it at him coolly.

“Get off my legs. I’m hot.” He whined, kicking.

Isaac huffed, but rose, moved to another part of the bed, turning around three times before he collapsed again.

“Thanks,” Shane muttered, rolling over, and trying to get back to sleep.

He couldn’t, though. The sky was only getting lighter in the windows, and in the split second he’d been awake, the anticipation had rolled through him.

His new pack was going to war today.

Well, maybe they were his pack. He wasn’t sure yet. But they’d taken him in, shuffled him around between houses, made sure he felt welcomed in every one. Lydia had bought the cereal he liked, and gotten two percent milk even though she only drank soy. And Stiles had brought  him comic books, and Scott had talked to him about being a new wolf. Derek and Boyd had shown him how to take apart a carburetor. He hadn’t actually learned how, but it was fun to sit and watch, to listen to them talk. They didn’t much, surrounded by other people, but  they did for him, and they made it seem easy.

Derek and Laura and Abby touched him, a lot, and he didn’t know why, but it soothed something in them, to have their scent on his skin. It made him feel like he was at home.

So, in the pale light of morning, he couldn’t help but feel like they were his pack. They’d claimed him, and he them. And that made today more important than it would be otherwise. This wasn’t just the people who’d taken him in risking their lives. It was pack. It was different.

“Isaac?” He spoke out into the blue purple morning light of the room.

The wolf lifted his head.

“Could you…change? I want to talk to you.”

Isaac rose carefully, slipping out of the room. Shane could hear his paws on the carpet as he padded through the house into the hall bath.

A few moments later, human feet padding on the floor, and the guest room door opening and closing again.

“What’s up?” Isaac said quietly.

Shane turned to look at him. He was wearing green flannel pajama pants and a gray t-shirt with some emblem Shane couldn’t make out. His hair was still messy from sleep.

“Is it about the nightmares?” Isaac prompted when Shane said nothing.

“Nightmares?” Shane repeated.

Isaac nodded slowly. “You weren’t sleeping well. You kept waking yourself up. That’s why I came in. I thought…I used to have nightmares like that, when I first joined the pack,” Isaac said, shuffling his feet. “Derek would sometimes do that, he’d shift into a wolf and come  lay with me. It’s good to have pack around when something’s worrying you.”

Shane blinked, tried to think about his sleep. “I don’t even remember having nightmares.” He muttered. He felt dysfunctional, like some part of him was missing, but Isaac just smiled.

“That’s great. They sounded really bad. It’s probably better that you don’t remember. I hope I didn’t invade your privacy? That meant a lot to me, at first, when I was…I keep talking about me. I know you don’t want to hear about me, I just, I don’t really have anything else to compare it to.” Isaac ran a hand over the back of his neck.

“I wanted to talk about today. About the fight,” Shane said quietly.

Isaac nodded, and came to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Do you think it’s going to work? Do you think you’re going to get rid of all the hunters?”

The other wolf seemed to think about it for a moment, before shrugging. “We’re going to try. Boyd and I, we don’t have a lot of experience with hunters. Laura kept them away from us. Her and Derek had a lot of experience with them before they settled in New York, they know more than us. Honestly, Scott and Stiles, Lydia, Allison, Erica…Danny even. They probably know more about hunters than Boyd and I combined. They’ve dealt with some messed up stuff in this territory. They’re gonna be a huge help.”

They were both quiet for a moment, the room was lightening, blue/pink/orange painting the walls.

“If we don’t, if we don’t take them all out today, it won’t be for lack of trying. And they’ll know they were in a fight. That much I can promise you.” Isaac breathed, and then shrugged again, like he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“Do you think anyone’s going to die?” Shane asked, his voice small.

“We’re hard to kill. We get hurt plenty, but we heal. I’ve…it’s been me, Laura, Derek and Boyd for a long time. And then we came here, and there was Scott and Allison, Stiles and Lydia, Erica and Danny, and Abigail. I’ve never…outside of Laura and Derek’s family, I’ve never seen a wolf die. I can’t even imagine it.”

Shane nodded. “But it’s dangerous, what you’re doing today.”

“Yeah,” Isaac sighed. “Yeah, it’s dangerous.”

“I think…” Shane said, all the sudden shy. “I think you’re my pack. If that’s okay. I don’t know if that’s okay. I know I have to talk to Laura first. But I think you are. I know I’d like you to be. And I’m scared for you. If you’re my pack. I don’t want you to die.”

Isaac reached out and put a hand on Shane’s forearm. He jumped. Derek and Laura and Abby, they touched him all the time, but Isaac never had. Not as a person. Always as a wolf.

“Laura’s going to say yes. Of course you’re pack. You’re  _ my _ pack. And I’m not going to let anything happen to you, okay? You’re at home now. That’s how I know we’re going to be okay. Because no matter what goes on out there, I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

Shane nodded.

They sat in silence and watched the sunrise paint the walls of Danny’s guest room, both horribly unsure of what they day had in store for them.

\--

They sat until they couldn’t justify sitting anymore, and then Shane moved into the bathroom to take a shower. When he got back, Isaac was gone, but he could hear him downstairs talking to Danny.

“She doesn’t want me to go,” Danny murmured.

Shane didn’t know if he was supposed to be listening or not, but he was too afraid to stop. Maybe they were saying something important about the fight. He was supposed to protect Allison and Abby. How was he supposed to do that if he didn’t know?

“Then you don’t go,” there was a rustle of fabric that sounded like Isaac was shrugging.

“I’m…you guys need me.” Danny stressed.

“Of course we do. But Abby needs you more. She went through a trauma yesterday, Danny. And you’re her dad. If she needs you to stay here, you stay here. We’ll handle the Argents. This isn’t a big deal.”

“It’s a massive deal!” Danny shouted.

Shane could hear Abby’s little feet running down the stairs, and he rushed after her, pulling on his shirt as he went.

“I don’t want you to go!” She screamed at the top of her lungs. “They’re bad people. They hurt people. And I don’t want you to hurt! I don’t want you to die like my first mommy and daddy died. I just want you to stay!” She cried, fat tears rolling down her cheeks.

Shane stood frozen in the doorway behind her, and Isaac looked similarly frozen, leaned up against the kitchen island.

Danny’s eyes were wide, but then he dropped to his knees in front of Abby, holding his arms out for a hug. She ran into them, snuggling against his neck.

“Of course,” Shane heard Danny whisper into her hair. “Of course I’ll stay with you, Abs. Of course I will.”

Isaac nodded. “I’ll call Laura,” he murmured, then he slipped out of the room.

\--

“I don’t,” Danny said about half an hour later, while he was loading Abby into the car, “I don’t know how this is going to work out. I was supposed to ride with you.”

“Derek and Stiles are going to come pick me up. The Sheriff and Melissa are expecting you. Everything will be fine.”

“What about,” he dropped his voice into a lower whisper, which seemed stupid, because Shane could obviously still hear him. “What about Shane? What if he loses control?”

Isaac ducked down, meeting Shane’s eyes. “Shane won’t lose control. Shane is going to protect his pack, isn’t he?”

Shane couldn’t do anything but nod dumbly.

“I’ll help!” Abby chirped from her booster seat. “I’ll help Shane protect everybody, if he forgets what to do because he’s new, I can remind him! I’ll help him protect you, Daddy! And Aunty Allison, and Miss Melissa, and Mr. Sheriff!”

Danny beamed at her. “Of course you will.”

“I’ll be alright,” Shane said to Danny as the older man slid into the car. “I promise.”

Danny met his eyes in the rearview mirror and nodded once.

“I’ll be alright,” Shane repeated, looking out the window.

They pulled out of the driveway, and Shane couldn’t help but twist around and watch as Isaac turned into nothing more than a speck of gold hair on the Mahealani’s porch.

\--

Stiles:

It had been a long time, was the thing. 

It had been a long time since Stiles woke up warm and relaxed with someone in his arms. Too long, maybe, since he’d woken up with his magic feeling settled in his  bones, in his blood, since he’d woken up feeling content.

And maybe that was why, it was so easy to stretch a little, arch his back and feel his morning wood press up against the warm curve of someone else’s ass. And when that ass pressed back against him, it was easy to slip his hand under the ratty t-shirt it’d been resting on, to feel the warm skin of a stomach under his palm, and grind back in a little harder, with a little more intention, just to feel the catch of breath, the beautiful ripple of those stomach muscles under his palm. It was easy to run his mouth along the nape of a neck, let his tongue trace shapes into the soft skin. To suck and to bite.

(And maybe something, far back in his head, said  _ marking _ , maybe something said  _ claiming _ , but he was asleep, and content, so he wouldn’t know.)

When a too hot hand covered his, dragged it down to a hard cock well, it’d been too long, maybe, since Stiles had one of those at his disposal. No one could blame him for wanting to take full advantage of the situation.

The cock in his hand was so  _ wet _ , too. It made for such a smooth slide as he pumped his hand up and down again, still thrusting his hips mindlessly forward.

He realized, almost absently, that he had another hand. It was spread out under the pillow, half dead from the weight of the head that’d been resting on it all night. Yet somehow it was easy to curl it forward, wrap the palm of it around a warm throat. Place it right where he could feel the rumble of words, the stutter of caught breath.

His hand moved faster.

Hips were hitching up to meet him now, and working back against his cock. God it felt so good, he thought. It’d never felt this good. He slid his leg forward, tangling it between to others, hooking it for more friction.

The throat under his palm was a constant vibration, now, and Stiles could imagine the voice it might produce. How it might moan, how it might beg. How it might sound like Derek.

Stiles’ eyes flew open, and he quickly took stock of his surroundings. His hands were in reasonable, innocuous positions, one stretched out under Derek’s pillow, half dead, and the other resting on Derek’s unfairly flat stomach, above his shirt, thank God.

Stiles was hard, so hard, and nestled up against the perfect curve of Derek’s ass, but there was no grinding, and Derek’s breath was still even with sleep, so it didn’t seemed that he’d noticed.

It was a feat, to untangle himself from Derek without jostling him too much, but he snuck into the bathroom without too much trouble.

\--

The field at the edge of town was bright and open and surrounded by forest on three sides. The fourth side faced off towards the road, which was closed for construction. The only way to reach the field was through the Preserve, and the Pack had brought signs (borrowed from Greenberg), closing off the paths. There was a solid chance that some hiker or jogger stumbled upon them, but it was one they’d have to take. Also, they knew from experience that it was not easy to explain “werewolf war” to the kind people of the Beacon Hills Police Force.

There were 52 people in the clearing. 50 young men and women, standing five to a row, ten rows deep, being yelled at by Kate Argent. Gerard sat on a chair behind her, twirling a rifle over his finger and smiling into the summer sun.  The soldiers were facing the street,  Kate and Gerard facing the far woods.

“Oh, come on ladies and gentleman, keep those knees high!” Kate called out to her troops. They were jogging in place, apparently trying to get their knees to their chests, while holding large, terrifying guns over their heads. Sweat was pouring down their faces and more than a  few of them looked very pale.

“Ma’am,” one young man gasped, doubling over, “we’ve been at this for hours.”

Kate’s eyes narrowed as she strolled over to him. No longer underneath her direct gaze, another young woman surreptitiously puked into the grass.

“And you’ll be at it hours more,” Kate purred into her fallen soldier’s ear. “Hours more, until you know how to run and fire and shoot without complaining, until every last one of those animals is dead. Do you understand me?”

The young man heaved, and was trying to catch his breath when Kate kicked him swiftly in the stomach. “Do you understand me?” She repeated, quietly.

The boy swallowed and nodded. “Yes,” he coughed, then stronger. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Holy shit,” Stiles whispered, careful not to be heard, but the revelation was just too much to go unspoken. Their enemy was abused and exhausted. The plan that had seemed so daunting last night was looking more and more like a cake walk in the light of day.

“Fan out,” Laura murmured, and the Pack started to move.

Laura and Derek would attack from the rear, and once they stepped out they would be plainly visible to Kate and Gerard before anyone else. Once the hunters advanced toward them, the rest of the pack would emerge from their left and right, surrounding their force.

Chris would set up his perch in a crow’s nest off a power line on the main road. He wouldn’t be able to get up there until after Derek and Laura had already been seen and the force had turned, otherwise he’d be visible to all the hunters as he scurried his way up the pole. The  remainder of the pack, though, weren’t to attack until Chris was firmly in place and had given the signal.

It was still risky. The guns were a constant danger, and Kate was unpredictable when cornered. But, all in all, stiles couldn’t help but think they’d had worse odds.

Stiles stood with Erica and Boyd on the right side of the field, while Scott, Lydia, and Isaac moved silently around to the left. They used sub vocal growls to communicate when they were in position.

The hairs on Stiles’ arms stood up, as the silence around them took on a new quality. There was anticipation in the air, and his magic was rising in him. He felt like he could hear everything, the twirl of Gerard’s pistol, the scrape of Chris’ boots on the wooden pole, the harsh in and out of Laura’s breathing.

She looked every bit a ruler as she stepped out into the clearing, Derek a step behind her and to her left. They’d never discussed it, that Stiles had seen, but it looked choreographed and strong.

There was no reaction for a moment, which suited the Pack just fine, it gave Chris more time to get into position, and set up his rifle.

Soon, though, Gerard stood, tucking his pistol into his waistband, and called out to them.

“Ah,” he said, face twisted into some parody of a smile, “the little Hale whelps have finally come to make their stand.”

Kate’s head flew over to them, and she separated herself from the troops slowly, like some large cat about to pounce. She brought her hands together in slow applause.

“If I didn’t say it before, Derek, you did grow up rather nicely.”

Stiles growled. It wasn’t anything like a true werewolf’s growl, but it was vicious and it was real. Boyd clamped a hand around his bicep to keep him from moving forward.

Laura smiled. “Y’know, Kate, I’ve got a feeling you’re going to pay for that later.”

“Do you, bitch?”

Now it was Derek’s turn to growl.

Laura placed a soothing hand on his arm. She took a deep breath, tilting her head up and closing her eyes. To Kate, it must look like she was drawing on some strength, but the Pack knew. Chris was in position. They were ready.

When Laura opened her eyes again, they were red with power.

“Yes,” she grinned, mouth full of fangs. “I very much do.”

And then she attacked.

Stiles knew with every bone in his body that he was going to be the one to kill Kate Argent today, so he breathed a sigh of relief when Laura went for Gerard first. He dodged easily, spry for an old man. Derek followed up right behind Laura, with a swipe to Gerard’s midsection. He moved again, the blow landing on his arm. 

Boyd growled next to him as red welled up on Gerard’s sleeve. First blood had been drawn. 

“What are you idiots doing?” Kate yelled out into the clearing, “Kill them!” 

The exhausted troops gathered themselves, a mass of shouting and running towards Derek and Laura. 

This was their moment. 

Erica moved first, shifting as she went. She was all fury and impatience, as usual, howling as she hurled herself into the fray. 

Boyd spared Stiles a quick glance before barreling in after her.  

Stiles moved slowly after them, checking his magazine as he moved, then surveying the field. 

Erica was fast, too fast most of the time, and usually a little sloppy.  She was a blur through the mass of hunters, a swipe here and a crack there, sometimes lethal, but mostly not. Normally, he would frown upon this kind of behavior, but the strategy here was mayhem, and Erica was perfect for it. 

Boyd, on the other hand, was a bulldozer. He crushed people in his wake, even going so far as to pick up one of the guns they were so worried about, and tear it in half. No one that he took down was getting back up, but that meant he was moving slower, leaving himself more open to attack. 

Stiles’ first shot of the day came before he’d breached the treeline. A hunter that Erica had previously knocked over was staggering forward, pointing a gun at Boyd. The shot hit him dead center. At the end of the day, Stiles was a cop. Center mass was what he was trained to hit, and he was good at it. 

There was a brief moment of guilt as the hunter looked down, placing a hand to his stomach and looking at it as it came away wet with blood. His eyes scanned to see where the shot had come from, but they hadn’t met Stiles’ yet before he hit the ground. 

Stiles wanted to watch him, wanted to see if he’d get back up. He felt a responsibility to this kid. If he was going to die here, if Stiles had killed him, then he was obligated to at least watch. But there wasn’t time. The sharp crack of a sniper started in the field, and the hunters scrambled again as they became aware of Chris in the crow’s nest. 

“The guns, you fucking--” he heard Kate shout, and he shot in her general direction. He couldn’t give her time to organize them. They were too many, the pack too few. The shot grazed her shoulder, and she spun to look at him, grinning. 

She advanced on him, and Stiles reloaded, moving toward her as well. 

Derek broke away from Gerard, wrapping a clawed hand around Kate’s wrist. It was the first time he’d touched her since this had started. Laura swiped at Gerard to keep his attention, to keep him from shooting at Derek’s exposed back. 

Stiles saw Kate turn, saw Derek raise a hand, saw her mouth move. Derek’s hand never came down, he just stood, stock still while she spoke to him. Stiles couldn’t imagine what she was saying, and he didn’t want to, but the rage that overcame him, remembering Derek’s wrecked voice talking about how she couldn’t deserve to die, filled him faster than he could manage. 

Suddenly, a gust of wind picked Kate up and flung her across the field. Stiles didn’t check to see where she landed, he’d deal with her later. Some of the hunters had heard Kate’s order, and were shouldering the cannons, pointing them at the wolves. 

He let out a sharp whistle, and the wolves dove back for the treeline just as the shots started to go off. At the last moment he realized that the hunters didn’t know who were wolves and who weren’t. They were shooting at everyone. He sent a desperate gust of wind through the clearing, and thanked his lucky stars that most of the shots went wide. All of them, as a matter of fact, except for the one that hit him. 

Pain lanced through him. Stiles had never felt anything like it. He hit the floor writhing, hearing the sounds of Erica calling out to him. One of the wide shots had hit a tree, and he could smell the smoke, the fire forming in the forest. He was on the ground, and he couldn’t move, and something was on fire. 

Scott’s team burst from the trees on the other side, actively engaging the hunters. They’d taken out a few of them, not enough, but a few. As Scott and Isaac engaged them, Chris still shooting from the crow’s nest. 

“Stiles!” He heard Derek shouting through the trees. “Stiles  _ do something _ !” Derek cried. He sounded terrified, and Stiles tried to move, tried to roll, but he couldn’t. His magic was vibrating inside him, trying to push out, to affect the world around him, but nothing was happening. Nothing that he could see anyway. 

“Boyd!” He heard Laura bark, firmly, and then he was being lifted, carried away. 

“You can’t--” he slurred, or tried to slur, but it sounded like gibberish to his own ears. 

“Shut up, Stilinski,” Erica snapped, and he was lowered down into a different patch of dirt. 

“We’ve gotta get back out there,” Laura said grimly. 

“I’m not leaving him,” Derek growled. 

There was a sigh, and then silence. 

“They’re gone,” Derek said, stroking his hair. 

Stiles moaned. His left arm was moving again, he could wiggle his fingers. His magic had some place to go, and it bent the trees, slowly, until they closed around them, folding over until they were safe and enclosed. 

“‘M alright.” He said, pleased that it sounded like words. 

“You’re burned,” Derek corrected. He brushed his fingers over the skin and Stiles didn’t feel anything. 

“I’ll be alright.” Stiles said again. Using his left arm, he forced himself into a sitting position. His arm felt like it was on fire. 

“We’ve gotta get back out there.” 

“You’re  _ hurt.” _

“I won’t leave them,” Stiles said, stubborn. Derek shook his head, but he pushed himself out of the hole Stiles had made, and helped pull him out. 

They moved back through the forest as quickly as Stiles could manage, and back into the fray. 

The hunters numbers had dwindled. Most of them were alive, but out of commission. It seemed that Scott and Chris had developed a system (and isn’t it funny, that  _ this _ is what they would bond over?), where Chris would kneecap the hunters from the nest, and Scott would destroy their guns. When Stiles and Derek made it back to the fight, there were maybe eight hunters left standing, plus Kate and Gerard. 

Derek hesitated at his side, and somehow, Stiles could feel the split of his loyalty. On one hand, his injured mate, on the other hand, his Alpha facing down the people who killed his family. 

“Go to her,” he said, reloading, “I’ll be alright.” 

Derek stared at him for a long moment before nodding sharply and running towards Laura’s fight. Lydia and Isaac were with her. 

With the field cleared, Chris’ shots were more efficient, the hunters were going down at a faster rate. Post fight relief was starting to crash through Stiles. They might actually get through this alive. 

Then Lydia was screaming. 

Lydia:

It may as well have been slow motion, as clear as it happened. 

Three of the foot soldiers had surrounded Laura, and she was holding her own, poised to defeat them. She was perfectly distracted. 

Gerard had slipped away. They hadn’t noticed in the scuffle. By the time Lydia put her eyes on him, he was across the field. He’d gotten one of the guns charged, and was pointing it at Laura.

Lydia cried out, turning from her own fight and running at Gerard. She wouldn’t get there in time, she knew. She knew how this ended.

Boyd:

The hunter behind Lydia raised his gun to fire and Boyd threw himself at the man, tackling him. The hunter was quick, possibly trained better than the others, because he slipped Boyd’s hold once, desperately reaching for his gun.

Boyd grimaced as he snapped the man’s neck.

He looked up just in time to see Gerard’s shot go off.

Lydia screamed and fell to her knees.

It was an impossible distance. Impossible. But the bullet carried all the way across the field, striking Laura in the chest.

She fell to the ground, and Boyd strained to hear her heartbeat in the clearing, but there were so many others and he didn’t know. He couldn’t be sure. Lydia choked a sob, scrabbling up and running back toward Laura.

He turned back to Gerard just in time to see Erica barrel into him.

The old man had dropped the gun, and was straining to get to it as Erica tore into his stomach, his chest, blood coating her claws.

Dimly, he heard Derek’s roar, felt the sharp shock of the Alpha power passing. It took his breath for a moment as the bond reformed around Derek, grayed out his vision.

When he opened them again, Kate Argent was standing behind Erica, fisting one hand into her hair. In the other hand, she held a hunting knife. Erica was limp, probably caught by the shift of power same as Boyd was.

He struggled to his feet but it was too late.

The knife wasn’t sharp enough to go through smooth. It took four tries, Boyd counted the jerky motions of Kate’s elbow, four saw like swipes before she was holding Erica’s head in her hand.

Kate tossed it, by her hair, off into the field to her right. Erica’s body slumped, falling over Gerard, whose ragged breath seemed to be the loudest thing in the clearing. He shouldn’t be alive, Boyd thought. Not if Erica was dead.

Smiling, Kate advance on Boyd. He could see her moving in his periphery, but he wasn’t looking at him, gaze fixed on Erica’s golden hair splayed over the grass.

Stiles:

He was running toward Lydia when it happened. There was a strange, gray moment where he couldn’t see, couldn’t hear anything. Then there was a slam of...everyone. The pack bond roared into his mind. He could feel them: Derek, Scott, Isaac, Boyd, even Shane, hesitant at the periphery. And Erica. Erica was red hot pain and anger and terror in his chest. He ran and he ran and he  _ ran _ , but by the time he got to Boyd’s side, she was gone. There was a cold, dark void in the bond where she had been, and even now, he could feel Boyd reaching for it, clinging to it. 

Too late. He was too late for Laura, he was too late for Erica. He watched as Kate advanced on Boyd and something in him snapped. His magic was cold and locked down in his chest. This wouldn’t be solved with wind or rain. 

Stiles shot Kate in the stomach, just to get her attention. It would kill her, eventually, but he didn’t have the patience for eventually right now. The Alpha of his pack was dead. His,  _ his _ Erica was dead. Derek was a grieving mess at the corner of his mind. Someone was going to pay for this. In blood. 

Kate hit her knees but didn’t fall, the gunshot not even wiping the sick smirk off her face. Her hands were still covered in Erica’s blood when she touched them to her stomach, and it made Stiles sicker. The blood of his friend was too good to mix with this psycho’s. 

“It seems we have a problem,” he said, touching Boyd’s shoulder as he strode passed him, looming above Kate. 

“Don’t underestimate me, little boy,” she sneered, breathing heavily. Her skin was paling before his eyes. “I’m still armed.” 

Stiles nodded, kneeling down in front of her. He pried the hunting knife from her hand. She probably had a pistol on her somewhere, but Stiles found he didn’t care very much. It’s not like she’d have the time to use it. 

“You’ve put your hands on too many things that belong to me,” he told her in a mild tone, shoving the muzzle of the gun up under her chin.

Pulling the trigger was easy. 

John: 

John had been this out of his depth exactly twice in his life: Once, standing in an airport with the love of his life, and once sitting in a hospital with the love of his life. 

Allison was literally sick with worry. She’d thrown up twice in the last two hours. Melissa had everything in her kit out, taking her blood pressure and her temperature. The little furrow between her brows told John it wasn’t looking good. When Melissa mentioned the hospital to Allison, though, she’d cried so miserably that John thought she might actually hurt herself. 

“I can’t,” she cried. “The baby’s a werewolf and the pregnancy’s weird and it won’t make sense and they’ll keep me for observation like a lab rat and it’ll be…” She’d cried so hard that they couldn’t make out words anymore. 

“Alright,” Melissa soothed, running a hand over her hair. “Alright, we’ll just get you laid down, then, how about that?” 

Allison nodded, and they’d led her up to Stiles’ old room. Melissa had moved and IV stand out of the guest room and set it up for her. Exhaustion had washed over Allison about thirty minutes later, and now she was in a fitful sleep, with Melissa at her side. 

Abby and Shane were sitting on the floor watching cartoons. Shane was half shifted, nervous. Every now and again, he’d get up and pace, growl at the windows, but he always sat back down again at Abby’s insistence, and he deferred to her easily.

Danny sat on the couch, observing them. They seemed to be getting along well, Shane and Abby, which worried him. When this whole debacle was over, Danny still intended to find a permanent home for Shane. He didn’t want Abby getting too attached.

And John was cleaning guns at the kitchen table, making sure he had a decent supply of wolfsbane bullets.

It was a tense existence, but that was to be expected for those left behind to wait while their loved ones put their lives on the line. John honestly couldn’t believe that he was sitting here, content to let his sons risk themselves while he cowered away. He wanted to be out there with them, but he understood that he was of the most use here.

Given the circumstances, he’d been expecting fireworks out of Shane, but it was  Abby that burst into tears first.

She howled, high pitched and forlorn, while Danny fell over himself trying to comfort her.

“What is it?” he murmured into her hair, gathering her into his lap. “What is it?”

Then Shane started. He didn’t howl, John wasn’t sure he knew how, but he did growl, eyes flashing blue, and advance on the door.

It was lined with mountain ash, intended to prevent anything supernatural from getting in, but it did just as good a job keeping him from getting out. He rebounded against it and fell back on his ass. John tried not to chuckle as he growled and tried again.

“It’s Laura,” Abby cried, “they killed Miss Laura.”

John stood.

Melissa came down the stairs, holding Allison’s hand as she stumbled down after her.

“Allison thinks something is wrong,” she announced to the room, and John nodded.

“Abby says they took out Laura.” He said, his mouth a grim line. 

Abby howled again. “Erica!” She shouted on her next breath.

John cursed under his breath, quickly gathering his weapons. 

“I’ve got to get out there.”

Shane ran to him. “Take me with you. Please. If they’re fighting, if people are…” he couldn’t finish. “Take me with you. They  _ need _ me.” Shane pleaded. 

John shook his head. “No, kid.” Shane whined in distress and John placed a firm hand on his shoulder. “Someone has to stay here. Someone has to protect the pack. And that someone has to be you.” 

Shane full himself up to full height, and nodded slowly. 

“I can go,” Danny said quietly. 

Abby wailed. “No! No! NO!” She screamed, jumping into Danny’s lap. 

The two men locked eyes over her head. “I guess I can’t go,” Danny amended, and Abby settled against him, snuffling. 

“I’ll go,” John repeated, meeting Allison’s eyes where she stood on the stairs. “And I’ll bring them back,” he promised. She nodded shakily. 

He drove three miles over the speed limit. He’d been sheriff here for a long time, and was aware that the entire town was basically a big speed trap. It wasn’t likely that he’d get pulled over, the station still knew his car, and he still carried a fair amount of weight in this town, but he couldn’t take the chance. So, as much as it killed him, he drove three miles over the speed limit, and no more, the whole way. 

Even knowing exactly what stretch of road the fight was happening on, rolling up on it directly wouldn’t do the kids any good. He pulled off on one of the dirt roads into the preserve about a mile before the clearing. Making sure his gun was loaded, he left the car and headed into the trails, ignoring the planted signs stating the preserve was closed. 

The scene he came upon was one he would never forget. 

Lydia was sobbing over Laura’s body. The rest of the pack were gathered around her, all in various states of distress. Boyd was standing silently behind Stiles. John didn’t see Erica anywhere, though he remembered Abby saying something had happened to her. He shuddered to think where she might be now. 

Derek was a wall at Stiles’ back. His face was blank, staring helplessly at Laura’s body, but his hand was clenched tightly in Stiles’. Stiles knelt down to touch Lydia’s shoulder and frowned. 

“I can feel it,” he muttered, touching Laura’s side. 

“Feel what?” Lydia sniffled. 

“The electricity. I can feel it in her. Feels like…” he trailed off, eyes widening. “Holy shit. Derek, come down here.” He tugged at the older man’s hand until he collapsed on the ground beside his sister. 

“Can you feel it?” 

Derek nodded, tears welling up in his eyes. “Can you get it out?” His voice was barely a whisper in the field. John caught it more by reading his lips than by hearing. 

Stiles grunted. “No, but I think we can together.” 

“What do you need me to do?” 

“Just keep holding on.”

Lydia was wide and glassy eyed. “Stiles, what are you going to do?” 

“There’s electricity in her, still. It hasn’t dissipated, and the charge is keeping her from healing. She’s burning, in there. I’m going to try to pull it out.” 

He pressed a palm to Laura’s heart. The wind in the clearing started to shift, and several members of the pack stepped back. John caught a glimpse of a head in the grass a couple yards away, a blonde head, separated from it’s body. He didn’t know, just from looking, if it was Erica or Kate, and he wanted to throw up. 

There was a low hum building in the clearing. Stiles started to lift his head from Laura’s chest, and fresh, crackling electricity was coming up with it, like it was magnetized to his hand. 

Derek’s teeth were clenched. “Hurts,” he said shakily. 

“I know,” Stiles soothed, still pulling up slowly. “I need you to hold it. I can’t lose it, now. I don’t think we can do this again.” 

Derek nodded. 

Stiles hand kept moving, and more and more of the electricity kept rising from her chest, until it was forming a tall column. Lightning from the heart of a wolf. 

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he breathed. 

Derek: 

“That’s all of it,” he said through gritted teeth. He could feel it, he could feel that it was out of her. There was pain lancing through his body, bouncing from nerve to nerve like he was the one who was being electrified. It hadn’t hurt when Stiles had done this the first time. 

Stiles collapsed back on his haunches, gently pulling his hands out of Derek’s to cup the nebulous ball of power in both hands. It glowed steadily in his hands. 

“I thought it would fade out,” Stiles said, looking at him. “When I let go of your hand. That’s what happened last time, right? I don’t remember if it dissipated first or if I passed out first.” 

“You passed out,” Derek murmured. They watched the ball float for a moment longer before Stiles nodded. He pointed it towards the forest and blew. 

It didn’t fly the way the shots had, it floated away. Almost sentient, it avoided trees as it disappeared deeper into the forest. 

“Where’s it going?” Derek asked. Stiles shrugged. “I have no idea. It just felt like...it felt like it needed to find something? God that sounds dumb.” He shrugged again. 

Now that his hands were free, Derek clutched one to his side, eyes on Laura. “What if it doesn’t work?” 

“It’ll work,” Lydia whispered. Her eyes were glued to Laura as well. “It will work because Laura Hale is an  _ asshole _ who thinks that this is an appropriate time to be  _ dramatic _ .” 

And Derek couldn’t stop the grin that came across his face, because Laura’s heart was beating. 

“Missed you too, Red.” She croaked. 


	17. Interlude: Meanwhile

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is short, but it's literally just what's happening with Maarah and Val during the last chapter.

It was a beautiful day. Cold out, but so picturesque in every other way that Valencia couldn’t help it, she had to go out back and work in the garden. It was Sherry’s day off, though she never strayed far. They’d had a little house built a few feet back from the trees for her. It was a cabin really, one room, with a serviceable kitchen and a bathroom. She loved it. 

Donning a black wool coat and her work gloves, Val stepped outside. The wind was blowing harshly, making it colder than it seemed, but she didn’t mind it so much. It was pushing out the clouds from the days before, making way for this crystal clear blue sky, so she couldn’t find it in her to complain. 

The only thing that plagued her was how tired she was. She was happy now, so she tried not to think about it much, but the curse had irrevocably changed her. Ever since Maarah had arrived, she found herself thinking what she might do if the curse were lifted. Would she go to her grandson and spend the rest of her days with him? No. Even after all these years, the idea of getting on a plane again made her sweat and shake. The same way she didn’t believe the curse was real until it had taken many lives, she would have similar trouble believing it was really over. 

So, no. She wouldn’t travel to Stiles. She would find him, definitely. Write to him, maybe, or the email, like she’d done with Claudia. She wanted to hear all about his life and how he’d lifted the curse. But mostly, she wanted to really  _ enjoy _ the life she’d made for herself here. She wanted to be nice to the shop girls, and the barmaid at the pub. She wanted to  _ talk _ to people. It seemed like the kind of thing that took practice, and she hadn’t had much of that. 

But most importantly, in her heart of hearts, she wanted to die peacefully. She prayed for an afterlife in which she might get to see her children again, Ina and Claudia and Aunt Flora and her father. God save her, even Danielle. 

Lost in thought, her eyes had misted up at the thought of all her lost family, but it was easy to shake herself out of it. To smile. Since they’d gotten Sherry, and the lawyer had come and taken care of things, Val had found herself feeling a lot better about the status of her life. She wasn’t angry anymore, wasn’t as scared. She had managed to build a life that she could sustain. The jam was making decent money, enough for them to live off of. The only thing she was paying out of the main accounts was Sherry, and her room and board paid most of her fee. 

There would be plenty left for Stiles, and any family he may have. And that’s what was most important to her. She had arranged that, if she was still alive on her 100th birthday, Stiles would get access to the majority of her money, and she would live off the jam sales alone until her final day. 

She had turned 92 just a few months ago. 

The greatest gift she had received over her long life was when her granddaughter Claudia introduced her to gardening. It had offended her sensibilities for a while, all the dirt. But once she’d gotten past that, she’d fallen in love with all the possibilities of it. She lived a life that would be surrounded by death, but here, in the dirt, she could make life. She could nurture it and grow it and keep it safe. There were so many things that she couldn’t control, but here, in the garden, she had all the power of a god. 

Valencia worked until her bones ached pleasantly. She hauled herself up and went back inside to find Ramaarah in the kitchen making lunch. 

“You don’t have to,” she started, but Ramaarah waved her off. “It’s just sandwiches. Go clean up, I’ll walk one back to Sherry.” 

Maarah was on a walker now, but she only used it in the house. Even the short trek to Sherry’s, which was on their own land, where no one could see it, she would use her cane. Pride ran deep in her, and Valencia was long past trying to shake it off. 

She and Ramaarah ate their sandwiches in companionable silence. 

“We should go into town,” Val said suddenly. Ramaarah stopped eating. “Town? You never want to go into town. Do you need something?” 

Val shook her head. “No, I’m just strangely antsy today. I want to go out, see people. I don’t know. Pet a dog, maybe. Or  _ something.  _ We could ask Sherry to drive us. We’ll buy her a bauble for her trouble.” 

“Are you sure you’re feeling alright, Val?” 

The younger woman laughed. “Yes. I feel great. I don’t know why, but I don’t want to waste it, you know? Come on, Maarah, lets go?” 

Ramaarah agreed, and they finished eating their food. Val wanted to rush, but her stomach gave her trouble if she ate too fast, and she didn’t want anything to spoil the day. 

Sherry was surprisingly amenable to driving them. She loaded them into her van and drove them into town proper. It had changed since the last time Val saw it. With Ramaarah around, she didn’t often take the risk anymore. It was much brighter and more modern than it had been even the few years since she’d last been there. 

“Where to, ladies?” SHerry asked. She was bright with excitement. It seemed Val’s good mood was contagious. 

“The jewelry store,” Val said, desively. Both women’s eyes widened. 

“Jewels? Val surely you don’t need any jewels. That’s just...it’s not the kind of life we lead, I don’t think.” 

“Maybe not,” Val responded. “But it never hurts to look. Have you ever worn a diamond on your neck, Ramaarah?” The older woman shook her head. She had a simple silver band on her ring finger, her wedding ring from Emery, all he could afford. She hadn’t taken it off, even when he’d left her. 

“You?” Val asked, looking to Sherry. The young wolf shook her head as well. 

“Let’s go try some on, then.” 

\--

They collapsed that evening, happy and exhausted. Val had lured them into shopping. No diamonds, though. They’d gotten a couple of cute outfits for Sherry, and a gardening hat for Ramaarah. 

“I don’t understand how you’ve gone this long without owning one,” Val had commented. 

“They’re ugly. That’s how,” Ramaarah had shot back. 

They’d perused the local bookstore, picked up treats at the bakery, saw a movie. Ramaarah had never seen one in a modern theatre. She’d snuck in to a couple of drive ins when she was younger. She’d never had popcorn either. They solved that. 

After the shopping and the movie and the pastries, Maarah’s blood sugar was high and Val’s hip was aching. Sherry was gentle with them as she loaded them back into the car and drove them home. She heated up leftovers for dinner, and served them on the couch. 

Maarah turned on the TV while she ate. She wasn’t really listening, but she liked the constant hum of people talking.    


Val popped in her headphones to finish up an audiobook. Her love for reading hadn’t wavered, but her eyes had, in the past few years. Glasses didn’t help, so she’d switched to listening to them instead. 

Sherry stayed with them. She knew all the excitement from today would come back and bite them eventually, and she wanted to be nearby if they needed help during the night. She could hear them from her little cabin in the woods, but she wanted to be close. This was her pack, small as it was, and she wouldn’t abandon them in their time of need. 

“Today was a good day, Maarah.” Val sighed, pulling her headphones out and gathering her things for bed. 

“Yes, it was,Val. Let’s do it again tomorrow.” 

Val laughed. “I don’t know if Sherry could handle it two days in a row.” 

They said their good nights, and headed off to bed. 

\--

Sherry’s eyes popped open. The house was dark, sun having not yet risen over the horizon. It took her a moment to place what had woken her. 

It was silence. There were birds chirping distantly, a committed rooster miles off, but inside the house, there was no sound. 

She ran back to Ramaarah’s room and found her bed empty. Panicking, she ran back to Valencia’s. Opening the door, she found the two of them laid in bed together, holding hands. The lines of their faces had smoothed out. Valencia looked to be smiling a little. There were no sounds of breathing in the room. No heartbeats.

Sherry approached the bed slowly, only to find a note addressed to her on Val’s bedside table. 

Sherry, 

We’re sorry we didn’t wake you. We couldn’t figure how to explain it, and we didn’t want to frighten you. The curse is broken. I wish I could describe to you how it feels not to be under its weight. On the one hand, we feel so free. On the other, I feel as though the curse was the only thing tethering me to this life. Now that it’s gone, I feel that I soon will be too. 

I cannot say that we will die before the night is over, only that I feel we will. We have chosen to go together, as we have lived the past years of our lives together, and as, even before our reunion, our lives have always ran in parallels of each other. 

Thank you, Sherry, for all you’ve done for us. Thank you for bringing joy to the lives of sad, lonely old women. These last days would have been so much darker without you. 

I’ve left you the house, and everything in it. There is no other way to properly express our gratitude to you. 

Thank you, 

Thank you,

Thank you, 

Warmest Regards,

Valencia 

(Love, Maarah) 


	18. Epilogue: Kitsune

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this is it. A short epilogue, a brief look at where we're going next and we're done.  
> But it's okay because there is a sequel! I will not post it until I'm finished with it, but my goal is to have it up by November of this year.

Laura

There wasn’t time to be happy that she was alive.

“Erica?” She asked, eyes wide on Boyd, and his face crumbled. She’d never seen him break that way. Stiles and Derek had to help her up, because everything in her was screaming to go to him, but she didn’t have the strength yet. 

She wrapped around him on the forest floor, held him together with everything she could muster, while he sobbed in her arms. She had lost her whole family once, but she’d never lost a mate. As monumental as her loss had been, she was aware that this one was greater. 

She heard Stiles and Lydia in command behind her, Derek on the phone, and she knew they would take care of everything. The world faded out behind her and she rumbled all the comfort she could at Boyd. 

When she tuned in again, they were being moved. “Erica,” she barked out again. 

“We have her,” Lydia responded, a cool presence at her side. She nodded, still clutching Boyd to her. He stayed there, tucked under her chin as she half carried him out of the forest, and into the cars. 

Deaton was waiting when they arrived at the Stilinski house. The pack collapsed in various positions around the room. Shane rushed Isaac, and they twined around each other on the floor in front of the couch, where Danny and Abby had situated themselves. The vet immediately reached for Laura, but she growled at him before she could stop it.

“I’m fine,” she bit out, “Stiles’ arm is injured.” 

He looked at her for a long moment before nodding. Walking over to Stiles, he took a look at the burn on his arm. 

“Can you still use your spark?” He asked, and Stiles nodded. He was exhausted, flagging against Derek’s side. Deaton hummed and went into the kitchen. He came back with a mug of foul smelling liquid. 

“Drink all of it,” he said. “It’s horrible, but it won’t kill you. The excess skin from the burn will peel. It might take a few days for sensation to return. It’ll heal better if you put it in a sling.” 

“What is this?” Stiles asked, sniffing the mug. 

“Your mother and I made that, more than twenty years ago, to protect you.” Deaton said. The man rarely spoke with any inflection, and this exchange was no exception. Stiles just stared at him, wide eyed, before chugging down the whole concoction. 

“What did she want to protect me from?” Stiles followed up. Deaton shrugged. 

“It’s not my place to say.” He murmured. 

Stiles opened his mouth as if to argue, but then sighed and closed it again. His shoulders drooped. Derek walked over to him spoke quietly. Stiles nodded. They ended up in a chair, Stiles pressed into the cushions, and Derek sitting awkwardly on the arm, watching Stiles like he would give anything to touch him. 

“Yesterday, that was how you looked at me,” Lydia said from beside her. Boyd was pressed tight against her other side, and he flinched at the sound of her voice.  

Laura chuckled a little at the truth of her statement. 

“Yesterday I didn’t know what kind of demon you were in bed,” She whispered back, not sure if Lydia would even hear her, but there was a bright spot of amusement in her scent. 

Deaton cleared his throat. “Ladies,” he said, his tone long suffering, but there was a little bit of a smirk at the corner of his mouth. Lydia smiled at him and turned back toward the kitchen to sit with Mrs. McCall. 

“They say you died, Laura. And that Stiles’ spark saved you. I need to look at you. I need to see how much of you is  _ you _ or if it’s just Stiles’ spark reanimating you.” 

Stiles choked. “Can I  _ do  _ that?!” 

“I have no idea,” Deaton responded, never taking his eyes off Laura, “but I’d like to find out.” 

Laura slowly disentangled herself from Boyd. Lydia moved to sit with him, but he moved away from her. Laura whined in distress, but it only seemed to stretch Boyd thinner, so she stopped. Lydia met her eyes, and they were filled with so much pain. It had been a long day for both of them. She retreated from Boyd, moving back to sit with Mrs. McCall in the kitchen. 

Surveying the room, she saw that the pack had formed completely. Even with the loss of Erica, they were a family in this room. The Sheriff and Melissa were sitting with Lydia, Melissa picking leaves and bits of bark out of her hair, while the sheriff tended to small cuts on her hands and arms. Abby was scenting Isaac, holding Shane’s hand, the four of them a small unit of love on the couch. 

Derek had migrated into the armchair, and he looked so lost. Laura knew, in her heart, that he would have a hard time living in a world without Kate in it. He thought that if she deserved to die, he did as well. She hoped that Stiles could show him how wrong he was. The young spark was in her brother’s lap, stroking his hair and murmuring to him. She could probably hear what he was saying if she listened, but their private moments deserved to be private. 

Allison and Scott were sitting on the stairs, Scott’s face buried in Allison’s neck as she surveyed the room. 

It hit her right before Allison’s mouth opened. 

“Where’s my father?” 

Stiles sputtered, looking around. “He was in the nest,” he said. “Did anyone see…?”

There was a collective shaking of heads. 

“Nobody looked for him? You didn’t...why didn’t you…” Allison started, before standing and jogging up the stairs. 

She came back down a moment later with her cell phone in her hand, and listened to it ring on speaker. 

“Ally,” Chris’ voice came through strong over the line. 

“Dad,” she sobbed, almost collapsing back onto the stairs, if not for Scott’s strong arms reaching out to catch her. “Where are you?” 

“My father got away. I was following him, but he shot me, and I…” there was a pause. “Strategic retreat. Would Melissa be willing to patch me up?” 

All eyes turned to where she was sitting. Wide eyed, Melissa nodded. 

“Alright, then. I’m on my way there. Is everybody okay, I saw Laura, and Erica…” 

“It’ll take more than Gerard to get rid of me,” Laura said, smirking. Deaton had taken skin and blood samples at this point, and was now shining lights in her eyes. 

“Laura? How did you, I mean...you were, you were dead. I saw…” 

“Stiles brought me back.” 

“And Derek!” Stiles cried out, fingers still running smoothly through Derek’s hair. Her baby brother just grunted and went back to pretending there was no one else in the room. Laura understood, her gaze strayed over to where Lydia was sitting. They had a lot to talk about, now that this thing was over. Now that the death Lydia had been so worried about had happened. 

Allison said her goodbyes and hung up the phone. 

“So,” she said, and her voice rang with authority that told Laura she had been a great Alpha mate. “My grandfather is still alive.” 

Laura sighed. “It seems he is.” 

“He’s injured.” Boyd said, it was the first thing he’d said since Laura had come back. “Erica, she hurt him. She hurt him bad. That’s why Kate…” the silence after was deafening. 

“We done, here?” Laura asked Deaton. He sighed and looked longsuffering, but he nodded. 

She curled around Boyd again. 

“We’ll find him. And we’ll handle him. We’ll take care of our own, alright?” She said, to the room at large. 

There were grunts of agreement, and nods, but the response was lackluster at best. The pack was exhausted from what was behind them, and there was plenty left up ahead. 

\---

The kit was born abnormal. She was too small and white, unlike any of her brothers and sisters. Her mother kept the other kits away from her, afraid of disease, while she waited for her color to come in. She didn’t wait long, though. Even if she had been born tawny like the others, she was still too small. Ultimately, she would’ve been abandoned no matter what. She didn’t let the others eat the runt though. Again, any manner of things could be wrong with her. 

The vixen led her kits away, the sounds of the runt whining behind her. She tried to follow, but they were moving too quickly, and her legs were too short. She started to feel tired, dizzy from all the movement, so she limped her way back to the hollow, and lay there. She was too young to know anything about death, so she waited aimlessly. On her mother to come back, maybe. On something. 

A field mouse made the mistake of wandering into her hollow, and she was so hungry that she attacked it without thinking. She passed out soon after, tired from her kill and still hungry. 

She woke up when she heard the noise. A crackling, powerful noise moving through the forest. Scrambling out of her hollow, she looked around and saw a blue white ball of light coming toward her. Coming toward the hollow. She dare not go back inside, so she ran. She ran the direction her mother had gone in and she didn’t stop running. She didn’t stop. 

But her legs were short, and she wasn’t going fast enough. There was a flash of pain, then something like being weightless, then the crackling sound again, and then all went dark. 

\--

When she awoke she was larger. A glance down at her paws told her that. She also had a scent in her nose she couldn’t shake. Mother forgotten, she rose up, pressed her nose to the ground and followed the scent. The cracking sound was still firing in her ears, but it felt different now. It felt like the sound of her breathing, or the sound of her stomach growling, or her paws crunching on dry leaves. The crackling sound was her now. 

She traveled slowly through the wood, until she stumbled upon an open field. There was blood there, acrid and unnatural. But there was also the scent she’d caught, and she followed it further, up the main road. To her, it smelled like family. 

She was going to find her family. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic has been so important to me. I've rewritten it like four times, it's gone through so many iterations and I'm really proud of this final product. But honestly, the best part of writing it has been posting it, and interacting with you guys. You have so many great ideas! And I'm so glad to hear them and interact with you guys. 
> 
> If there's one thing I'd ask for, its this: This fic is _sorely_ undertagged, just because it's huge and trying to tag it was overwhelming. If there's a tag you think I've missed, please let me know so I can add it. 
> 
> Thank you! And I'll see you all next time ^.^


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